University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

Gift  of 
JAMES   L.    HENRY 


FREE   RANGE 

LANNING 


"Gentlemen,"  said  Andrew,  "I  am  not  a  bum.      I  am  worth  five 
thousand  dollars  to  the  man  who  turns  me  over,  dead  or  alive  ..." 

Frontispiece — Page  1 55 


Free  Range  Lanning 

A  Western  Story 


BY 

GEORGE  OWEN  BAXTER 


Frontispiece  ly 
EDGAR  WITTMACK 


CHELSEA   HOUSE 

79  Seventh  Avenue,  New  York  City 

1921 


Copyright,  1921 
By  CHELSEA  HOUSE 

Free  Range  Lanning 


All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of  translation  into  foreign 
languages,  including  the  Scandinavian. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PACE 

I.  BLOOD  AND  IRON •.  n 

II.  ANDY  EXAMINES  His  HANDS  .     .  17 

III.  IN  THE  SADDLE 24 

IV.  BILL  TAKES  THE  TRAIL   ....  30 
V.  FEAR  OR  IRON  DUST 36 

VI.  THE  MERCHANT  HOUSE  ....  42 

VII.  "BETWIXT  AND  BETWEEN"   ...  48 

VIII.  BILL'S  BARGAIN 58 

IX.  THE  BIRTH  OF  A  DESPERADO   .     .  65 

X.  ANDY'S  DEATH  WARRANT    ...  72 

XL  ANDY  TAKES  CARDS 78 

XII.  THE  BRINGER  OF  NEWS      ...  84 

XIII.  ANDY  is  INTRODUCED 90 

XIV.  INVISIBLE  BONDS 97 

XV.  TOWARD  THE  FAR  HORIZON  .    .    .  105 
vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAG3 

XVI.     IN  ROOM  SEVENTEEN in 

XVII.     HEAVEN  AND  HELL 117 

XVIII.  LIKE  A  RED  FLASH    .....  125 

XIX.  SANCTUARY  IN  THE  HILLS  .     .     .  132 

XX.  HANK  MAKES  A  GIFT    ....  138 

XXL  HANK  DROPS  His  CARDS    .     .     .  144 

XXII.  THE  THRESHOLD  OF  MERCY     .     .  150 

XXIII.  UNDER  COVER ^ 

XXIV.  JUD'S  SACRIFICE     ......  162 

XXV.  A  MAN  OF  DOUBTS    .....  167 

XXVI.  BY  A  SPIDER  THREAD  .     ...     *  174 

XXVII.  THE  WOOING  OF  SALLY  .     .    .    ?  182 

XXVIII.  THE  BLOND  BEARD     .....  189 

XXIX.  TRUTH  AND  FICTION  .     .     .    .    .  196 

XXX.  GREEK  MEETS  GREEK  .....  203 

XXXI.  HORSE  AGAINST  HORSE  .     .    .    s  212 

XXXII.  "THE  INNER  SHRINE"    ....  222 

XXXIII.  BESS  BALDWIN .     .  235 

XXXIV.  THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  .    .    .  242 


CONTENTS  ix 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXXV.  THE  HOLDUP 251 

XXX VI.  ALLISTER'S  SUCCESSOR    ....  261 

XXXVII.  A  DUEL  TO  THE  DEATH  ....  267 

XXXVIII.  ANDY  PAYS  HIMSELF      ....  276 

XXXIX.  IN  THE  OTHER  ROOM      ....  281 

XL.  AT  THE  POINT  OF  A  RIFLE  .     .     .  288 

XLI.  BETWEEN  A  HORSE  AND  A  GIRL    .  296 


FREE  RANGE  LANNING 


CHAPTER  I 

BLOOD  AND   IRON 

BESIDE  the  rear  window  of  the  blacksmith  shop  Jasper 
Lanning  held  his  withered  arms  folded  against  his 
chest.  With  the  dispassionate  eye  and  the  aching  heart 
of  an  artist  he  said  to  himself  that  his  life  work  was  a 
failure.  That  life  work  was  the  young  fellow  who  swung 
the  sledge  at  the  forge,  and  truly  it  was  a  strange  product 
for  this  seventy-year-old  veteran  with  his  slant  Oriental 
eyes  and  his  narrow  beard  of  white.  Andrew  Lanning 
was  not  even  his  son,  but  it  came  about  in  this  way  that 
Andrew  became  the  life  work  of  Jasper. 

Fifteen  years  before  the  father  of  Andy  died,  and 
Jasper  rode  out  of  the  mountain  desert  like  a  hawk  drop- 
ping out  of  the  pale-blue  sky;  for  the  clan  spirit  of  the 
Lannings  was  as  strong  as  the  clan  spirit  of  the  Campbells 
and  Stewarts  in  the  old  days.  Jasper  buried  his  brother 
without  a  tear,  and  then  sat  down  and  looked  at  the 
slender  child  who  bore  his  name.  Andy  was  a  beautiful 
boy.  He  had  the  black  hair  and  eyes,  the  well-made  jaw, 
and  the  bone  of  the  Lannings,  and  if  his  mouth  was 
rather  soft  and  girlish  he  laid  the  failing  to  the  weakness 
of  childhood.  Jasper  had  no  sympathy  for  tenderness  in 
men.  His  own  life  was  as  littered  with  hard  deeds  as 
the  side  of  a  mountain  with  bowlders.  But  the  black, 
bright  eyes  and  the  well-made  jaw  of  little  Andy  laid 
hold  on  him,  and  he  said  to  himself :  "I'm  fifty-five.  I'm 
about  through  with  my  saddle  days.  I'll  settle  down  and 


12  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

turn  out  one  piece  of  work  that'll  last  after  I'm  gone,  and 
last  with  my  signature  on  it !" 

That  was  fifteen  years  ago.  And  for  fifteen  years  he 
had  labored  to  make  Andy  a  man  according  to  a  grim 
pattern  which  was  known  in  the  Lanning  clan,  and  else- 
where in  the  mountain  desert.  His  program  was  as  simple 
as  the  curriculum  of  a  Persian  youth.  On  the  whole,  it 
was  even  simpler,  for  Jasper  concentrated  on  teaching  the 
boy  how  to  ride  and  shoot,  and  was  not  at  all  particular 
that  he  should  learn  to  speak  the  truth.  But  on  the  first 
two  and  greatest  articles  of  his  creed,  how  Jasper  labored ! 

For  fifteen  years  he  poured  his  heart  without  stint  into 
his  work !  He  taught  Andy  to  know  a  horse  from  hock 
to  teeth,  and  to  ride  anything  that  wore  hair.  He  taught 
him  to  know  a  gun  as  if  it  were  a  sentient  thing.  He 
taught  him  all  the  draws  of  old  and  new  pattern,  and 
labored  to  give  him  both  precision  and  speed.  That  was 
the  work  of  fifteen  years,  and  now  at  the  end  of  this 
time  the  old  man  pressed  his  bony  shoulders  against  the 
wall  of  the  blacksmith  shop  and  knew  that  his  work  was  a 
failure. 

It  came  coldly  and  smoothly  home  to  him  as  truths 
which  we  discover  for  ourselves  are  apt  to  do,  or  as  a 
poniard  point  comes  easily  home  to  the  heart.  Jasper 
felt  like  that;  there  was  death  inside  him;  but  he  rolled 
his  cigarette  in  Mexican  style,  thin  and  hard,  and  smoked 
it  with  a  masklike  face.  His  life  work  was  a  failure,  for 
he  had  made  the  hand  of  Andrew  Lanning  cunning,  had 
given  his  muscles'  strength,  but  the  heart  beneath  was 
wrong. 

It  was  hard  to  see  Andy  at  the  first  glance.  A  film  of 
smoke  shifted  and  eddied  through  the  shop,  and  Andy, 
working  the  bellows,  was  a  black  form  against  the  square 
of  the  door,  a  square  filled  by  the  blinding  white  of  the 


BLOOD  AND  IRON  13 

alkali  dust  in  the  road  outside  and  the  blinding  white  of 
the  sun  above.  Andy  turned  from  the  forge,  bearing  in 
his  tongs  a  great  bar  of  iron  black  at  the  ends  but  white 
in  the  middle.  The  white  place  was  surrounded  by  a 
sparkling  radiance.  Andy  caught  up  an  eight-pound 
hammer,  and  it  rose  and  fell  lightly  in  his  hand ;  the  blows 
were  a  shower ;  there  was  strength  for  you !  The  sparks 
were  flung  to  the  farthest  corners  of  the  shop.  On  the 
floor  they  became  little  spots  of  darkening  red;  they 
rushed  against  the  leather  apron  of  the  hammer  wielder, 
and  as  the  blows  fell  rapid  waves  of  light  were  thrown 
against  the  face  of  Andrew. 

Looking  at  that  face  one  wondered  how  the  life  work 
of  Jasper  was  such  a  failure.  For  Andy  was  a  handsome 
fellow  with  his  blue-black  hair  and  his  black,  rather  slant- 
ing eyes,  after  the  Lanning  manner.  Yet  Jasper  saw, 
and  his  heart  was  sick.  The  face  was  a  little  too  full ;  the 
square  bone  of  the  chin  was  rounded  with  flesh;  and, 
above  all,  the  mouth  had  never  changed.  It  was  the 
mouth  of  the  child,  soft — too  womanly  soft.  And  Jasper 
blinked. 

When  he  opened  his  eyes  again  the  white  place  on  the 
iron  had  become  a  dull  red,  and  the  face  of  the  black- 
smith was  again  in  shadow.  All  Jasper  could  see  was 
the  body  of  Andy,  and  that  was  much  better.  Red  light 
glinted  on  the  sinewy  arms  and  the  swaying  shoulders, 
and  the  hammer  swayed  and  fell  tirelessly.  For  fifteen 
years  Jasper  had  consoled  himself  with  the  strength  of 
the  boy,  smooth  as  silk  and  as  durable;  the  light  form 
which  would  not  tire  a  horse,  but  swelled  above  the  waist 
into  those  formidable  shoulders. 

Now  the  bar  was  lifted  from  the  anvil  and  plunged, 
hissing,  into  the  bucket  beside  the  forge ;  above  the  bucket 
a  cloud  of  steam  rose  and  showed  clearly  against  the 


14  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

brilliant  square  of  the  door,  and  the  peculiar  scent  which 
came  from  the  iron  went  sharply  to  the  nostrils  of  Jas- 
per. He  got  up  and  straightened  his  long,  age-withered 
limbs  as  a  horseman  entered  the  shop.  He  came  in  a 
manner  that  pleased  Jasper.  There  was  a  rush  of  hoof- 
beats,  a  form  darting  through  the  door,  and  in  the  midst 
of  the  shop  the  rider  leaped  out  of  the  saddle  and  the 
horse  came  to  a  halt  with  braced  legs.  It  knocked  up 
a  cloud  of  dust  that  blew  slowly  over  to  Jasper  in  the 
rear  of  the  shop. 

"Hey,  you!"  called  the  rider  as  he  tossed  the  reins 
over  the  head  of  his  horse.  "Here's  a  hoss  that  needs 
iron  on  his  feet.  Fix  him  up.  And  look  here" — he 
lifted  a  forefoot  and  showed  the  scales  on  the  frog  and 
sole  of  the  hoof — "last  time  you  shoed  this  hoss  you 
done  a  sloppy  job,  son.  You  left  all  this  stuff  hangin' 
on  here.  I  want  it  trimmed  off  nice  an'  neat.  You 
hear?" 

The  blacksmith  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Spoils  the  hoof  to  put  the  knife  on  the  sole,  Buck," 
said  the  smith.  "That  peels  off  natural." 

"H'm,"  said  "Buck"  Heath.     "How  old  are  you,  son  ?" 

"Oh,  old  enough,"  answered  Andy  cheerily.  "Old 
enough  to  know  that  this  exfoliation  is  entirely  natural." 

The  big  word  stuck  in  the  craw  of  Buck  Heath,  who 
brought  his  thick  eyebrows  together.  "I've  rid  horses 
off  and  on  come  twenty-five  years,"  he  declared,  "and 
I've  rid  'em  long  enough  to  know  how  I  want  'em  shod. 
This  is  my  hoss,  son,  and  you  do  it  my  way.  That 
straight?" 

The  eye  of  old  Jasper  in  the  rear  of  the  shop  grew 
dim  with  wistfulness  as  he  heard  this  talk.  He  knew 
Buck  Heath ;  he  knew  his  kind ;  in  his  day  he  would  have 
eaten  a  dozen  men  of  such  rough  words  and  such  mild 


BLOOD  AND  IRON  15 

deeds  as  Buck.  But  searching  the  face  of  Andy,  he  saw 
no  resentment.  Merely  a  quiet  resignation. 

"Another  thing/'  said  Buck  Heath,  who  seemed  de- 
termined to  press  the  thing  to  a  disagreeable  point.  "I 
hear  you  don't  fit  your  shoes  on  hot.  Well  ?" 

"I  never  touch  a  hoof  with  hot  iron,"  replied  Andy. 
"It's  a  rotten  practice." 

"Is  it?"  said  Buck  Heath  coldly.  "Well,  son,  you  fit 
my  hoss  with  hot  shoes  or  I'll  know  the  reason  why." 

"I've  got  to  do  the  work  my  own  way,"  protested 
Andy. 

A  spark  of  hope  burned  in  the  slant  eyes  of  Jasper. 

"Otherwise  I  can  go  find  another  gent  to  do  my  shoe- 
in'  ?"  inquired  Buck. 

"It  looks  that  way,"  replied  the  blacksmith  with  a  nod. 

"Well,"  said  Buck,  whose  mildness  of  the  last  ques- 
tion had  been  merely  the  cover  for  a  bursting  wrath  that 
now  sent  his  voice  booming,  "maybe  you  know  a  whole 
pile,  boy — I  hear  Jasper  has  give  you  consid'able  edu- 
cation— but  what  you  know  is  plumb  wasted  on  me. 
Understand  ?  As  for  lookin'  up  another  blacksmith,  you 
ought  to  know  they  ain't  another  shop  in  ten  miles. 
You'll  do  this  job,  and  you'll  do  it  my  way.  Maybe  you 
got  another  way  of  thinkin'?" 

There  was  a  little  pause. 

"It's  your  horse,"  repeated  Andy.  "I  suppose  I  can 
do  him  your  own  way." 

Old  Jasper  closed  his  eyes  and  grinned  in  a  silent 
agony.  Looking  again,  he  saw  Buck  Heath  grinning 
with  contempt,  and  for  a  single  moment  Jasper  touched 
his  gun.  Then  he  remembered  that  he  was  seventy  years 
old.  He  stood  up.  "Well,  Buck?"  he  said,  coming  for- 
ward. For  he  felt  that  if  this  scene  continued  he  would 
go  mad  with  shame. 


16  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

There  was  a  great  change  in  Buck  as  he  heard  this 
voice,  a  marked  respect  was  in  his  manner  as  he  turned 
to  Jasper.  "Hello,  Jas,"  he  said.  "I  didn't  know  you 
was  here." 

"Come  over  to  the  saloon,  Buck,  and  have  one  on  me," 
said  Jasper.  "I  guess  Andy'll  have  your  hoss  ready 
when  we  come  back." 

"Speakin*  personal,"  said  Buck  Heath  with  much 
heartiness,  "I  don't  pass  up  no  chances  with  no  man,  and 
particular  if  he's  Jasper  Lanning."  He  hooked  his  arm 
through  Jasper's  elbow.  "Besides,  I'm  all  lined  with 
alkali,  Jas." 

Then  he  added :  "And  that  boy  of  yours  has  got  me 
all  heated  up.  Where'd  he  learn  them  man-sized  words, 
Jas?" 

All  of  which  Andy  heard,  and  he  knew  that  Buck 
Heath  intended  him  to  hear  them.  It  made  Andy  frown, 
and  for  an  instant  he  thought  of  calling  Buck  back.  But 
he  did  not  call.  Instead  he  imagined  what  would  happen. 
Buck  would  turn  on  his  heel  and  stand,  towering,  in  the 
door.  He  would  ask  what  Andy  wanted.  Andy  chose 
the  careful  insult  which  he  would  throw  in  Buck's  face. 
He  saw  the  blow  given.  He  felt  his  own  fist  tingle  as 
he  returned  the  effort  with  interest.  He  saw  Buck  tum- 
ble back  over  the  bucket  of  water. 

His  thoughts  roved  on.  He  saw  Buck  drag  himself 
up  and  away  with  a  lump  on  his  jaw.  He  saw  the  faces 
of  other  men  as  he  passed  them  on  the  single  street  of 
the  town.  He  felt  their  eyes  on  him — the  man  who  beat 
up  big  Buck  Heath. 

By  this  time  Andy  was  smiling  gently  to  himself.  His 
wrath  had  dissolved  in  that  thinking,  and  he  was  hum- 
ming pleasantly  to  himself  as  he  began  to  pull  off  the 
worn  shoes  of  Buck's  horse. 


CHAPTER  II 

ANDY  EXAMINES   HIS  HANDS 

YOUNG  Andrew  Lanning  lived  in  the  small,  hushed 
world  of  his  own  thoughts.  Between  him  and  the 
bitter  necessities  of  a  man's  world  stood  the  figure  of 
Jasper,  and  Uncle  Jasper's  name  was  one  to  frighten  off 
trouble  from  the  most  troublesome.  Half  a  century  ago 
he  had  done  things  which  were  now  legend,  and  the  awe 
of  his  past  still  surrounded  him.  It  was  pleasant  for 
Andy  to  make  things  with  his  hands,  and  therefore  the 
blacksmith  shop  contented  him.  As  for  the  hard  labor, 
his  muscles  made  it  play,  and  as  to  the  future,  for  which 
every  young  man  lives,  the  dreams  of  Andy  made  up 
that  time  to  come. 

In  reality  he  neither  loved  nor  hated  the  world  and 
the  people  around  him.  He  simply  did  not  see  them. 
His  mother — it  was  from  her  that  he  inherited  the  softer 
qualities  of  his  mind  and  his  face — had  lived  long  enough 
to  temper  his  vocabulary  also;  she  had  even  left  him  a 
little  stock  of  books.  And  though  Andy  was  by  no 
means  a  reader,  he  had  at  least  picked  up  that  danger- 
ous equipment  of  fiction  which  enables  a  man  to  dodge 
reality  and  live  in  his  dreams.  Those  dreams  had  as 
little  as  possible  to  do  with  the  daily  routine  of  his  life, 
and  certainly  the  handling  of  guns,  which  his  uncle  en- 
forced upon  him,  was  never  a  part  of  the  future  as  Andy 
saw  it. 

It  was  now  the  late  afternoon;  the  alkali  dust  in  the 
road  was  still  in  a  white  light,  but  the  temperature  in  the 


i8  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

shop  had  dropped  several  degrees.  The  horse  of  Buck 
Heath  was  shod,  and  Andy  was  laying  his  tools  away 
for  the  day  when  he  heard  the  noise  of  an  automobile 
with  open  muffler  coming  down  the  street.  He  stepped 
to  the  door  to  watch,  and  at  that  moment  a  big  blue  car 
trundled  into  view  around  the  bend  of  the  road.  The 
rear  wheels  struck  a  slide  of  sand  and  dust,  and  skidded ; 
a  girl  cried  out;  then  the  big  machine  gathered  out  of 
the  cloud  of  dust,  and  came  bowling  toward  Andy.  It 
came  with  a  crackling  like  musketry,  and  it  was  plain 
that  it  would  leap  through  Martindale  and  away  into  the 
country  beyond  at  a  bound.  Andy  could  see  now  that 
it  was  a  roadster,  low-hung,  ponderous,  to  keep  the  road. 
The  ways  through  the  mountains  must  be  murderous  to 
such  a  make  of  car. 

Pat  Gregg  was  leaving  the  saloon ;  he  was  on  his  horse, 
but  he  sat  the  saddle  slanting,  and  his  head  was  turned 
to  give  the  farewell  word  to  several  figures  who  bulged 
through  the  door  of  the  saloon.  For  that  reason,  as  well 
as  because  of  the  fumes  in  his  brain,  he  did  not  hear  the 
coming  of  the  automobile.  His  friends  from  the  saloon 
saw,  however.  They  yelled  a  warning,  but  he  evidently 
thought  it  some  jest,  as  he  waved  his  hand  with  a  grin 
of  appreciation.  The  big  car  was  coming,  rocking  with 
its  speed ;  it  was  too  late  now  to  stop  that  flying  mass  of 
metal. 

But  the  driver  made  the  effort.  His  brakes  shrieked, 
and  still  the  car  shot  on  with  scarcely  abated  speed,  for 
the  wheels  could  secure  no  purchase  in  the  thin  sand  of 
the  roadway.  Andy's  heart  stood  still  in  sympathy  as 
he  saw  the  face  of  the  driver  whiten  and  grow  tense. 
Charles  Merchant,  the  son  of  rich  John  Merchant,  was 
behind  the  wheel.  Drunken  Pat  Gregg  had  taken  the 
warning  at  last.  He  turned  in  the  saddle  and  drove 


ANDY  EXAMINES  HIS  HANDS  19 

home  his  spurs,  but  even  that  had  been  too  late  had  not 
Charles  Merchant  taken  the  big  chance.  At  the  risk  of 
overturning  the  machine  he  veered  it  sharply  to  the  left. 
It  hung  for  a  moment  on  two  wheels.  Andy  could  count 
a  dozen  heartbeats  while  the  plunging  car  edged  around 
the  horse  and  shoved  between  Pat  and  the  wall  of  the 
house — inches  on  either  side.  Yet  it  must  have  taken 
not  more  than  the  split  part  of  a  second. 

There  was  a  shout  of  applause  from  the  saloon;  Pat 
Gregg  sat  his  horse,  mouth  open,  his  face  pale,  and  then 
the  heavy  car  rolled  past  the  blacksmith  shop.  Andy, 
breathing  freely  and  cold  to  his  finger  tips,  saw  young 
Charlie  Merchant  relax  to  a  flickering  smile  as  the  girl 
beside  him  caught  his  arm  and  spoke  to  him. 

And  then  Andy  saw  her  for  the  first  time. 

She  wore  a  linen  duster  and  a  linen  hat.  All  Andy 
could  see  was  the  white  flash  of  her  hand  as  she  gestured, 
and  her  face.  But  that  was  enough.  His  eyes  had  been 
traveling  with  lightning  speed  as  the  car  threatened  the 
horse  and  Pat.  Now,  in  the  brief  instant  as  the  machine 
moved  by,  he  not  only  saw  her  clearly,  but  he  printed  the 
picture  to  be  seen  again  when  she  was  gone.  What  was 
the  hair?  Red  bronze,  and  fiery  where  the  sun  caught 
at  it,  and  the  eyes  were  gray,  or  blue,  or  a  gray-green. 
But  colors  did  not  matter.  It  was  all  in  her  smile  and 
the  turning  of  her  eyes,  which  were  very  wide  open.  She 
spoke,  and  it  was  in  the  sound  of  her  voice. 

"Wait!"  shouted  Andy  Lanning  as  he  made  a  step 
toward  them.  But  the  car  went  on,  rocking  over  the 
bumps  and  the  exhaust  roaring.  Andy  became  aware 
that  his  shout  had  been  only  a  dry  whisper.  Besides, 
what  would  he  say  if  they  did  stop? 

And  then  the  girl  turned  sharply  about  and  looked 
back,  not  at  the  horse  they  had  so  nearly  struck,  but  at 


20  FREE  RANGE  LANN1NG 

Andy  standing  in  the  door  of  his  shop.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  that  glance  entered  his  eyes  and  reached  his 
soul;  he  felt  sure  that  she  would  remember  his  face;  her 
smile  had  gone  out  while  she  stared,  and  now  she  turned 
her  head  suddenly  to  the  front.  Once  more  the  sun 
flashed  on  her  hair;  then  the  machine  disappeared.  In 
a  moment  even  the  roar  of  the  engine  was  lost,  but  it 
came  back  again,  flung  in  echoes  from  some  hillside. 

Not  until  all  was  silent,  and  the  boys  from  the  saloon 
were  shaking  hands  with  Pat  and  laughing  at  him,  did 
Andy  turn  back  into  the  blacksmith  shop.  It  confronted 
him  like  a  piece  of  black  night  with  shadows  in  it.  Per- 
haps that  was  the  effect  of  the  sudden  turning  from 
bright  daylight. 

He  sat  down  on  the  anvil  with  his  heart  beating,  and 
began  to  recall  the  picture.  Yes,  it  was  all  in  the  smile 
and  the  glint  of  the  eyes.  And  something  else — how 
should  he  say  it  ? — of  the  light  shining  through  her. 

Once,  in  the  mountains,  looking  suddenly  up,  it  had 
seemed  to  Andy  that  all  the  stars  were  looking  at  him; 
that  he  could  hear  the  silence  of  the  wilderness.  And 
his  heart  had  beat  as  it  was  beating  now.  He  had  never 
had  that  sensation  again,  but  he  knew  the  sky  would 
always  be  there,  waiting  And  so  with  this  girl.  In 
the  dusty  street,  in  the  sharp,  hot  sunshine,  in  the  roar 
of  the  motor  and  the  crackling  of  voices,  she  had  fallen 
on  the  mind  of  Andy  like  a  holy  quiet.  But  having  seen 
her  once  he  would  never  see  her  again. 

He  could  have  borne  that  loss ;  he  could  have  retained 
the  picture  as  something  beautiful  and  beautifully  imper- 
sonal if  he  had  not  heard  her  voice.  As  a  touch  of  velvet 
will  thrill  all  the  nerves  from  the  finger  tips  so  the  sound 
of  her  voice  had  gone  softly  through  him.  And  when 


ANDY  EXAMINES  HIS  HANDS  21 

her  face  was  forgotten  the  memory  of  that  voice  would 
keep  tugging  at  his  heartstrings. 

Suppose  one  wakens  from  a  dream  of  music.  The 
music  is  gone ;  only  the  happiness  remains,  together  with 
the  bitter  sense  of  loss.  Andy  sat  on  the  anvil  with 
closed  eyes  and  put  his  hand  over  his  heart,  where  the 
pain  was. 

He  stood  up  presently,  closed  the  shop,  and  went  home. 
Afterward  his  uncle  came  in  a  fierce  humor,  slamming 
the  door.  He  found  Andy  sitting  in  front  of  the  table 
staring  down  at  his  hands. 

"Buck  Heath  has  been  talkin'  about  you,"  said  Jasper. 

Andy  raised  his  head.  "Look  at  'em !"  he  said  as  he 
spread  out  his  hands. 

"Buck  Heath  has  been  sayin'  things  that  would  of  got 
him  shot  when  I  was  your  age,"  said  Jasper  more  point- 
edly than  he  had  ever  spoken  before.  And  he  sickened 
when  he  saw  that  Andy  refused  to  hear. 

"Look  at  'em,'*  repeated  Andy.  "I  been  scrubbin'  'em 
with  sand  soap  for  half  an  hour,  and  the  oil  and  the  iron 
dust  won't  come  out." 

Uncle  Jasper,  who  had  a  quiet  voice  and  gentle  man- 
ners, now  stood  rigid.  "I  wisht  to  God  that  some  iron 
dust  would  work  its  way  into  your  soul,"  he  said.  He 
let  his  voice  go  big.  "Oh,  Lord,  how  I  wisht  you  had 
some  iron  dust  in  your  heart !" 

"What  are  you  talking  about?" 

"Nothin'  you  could  understand ;  you  need  a  mother  to 
explain  things  to  you." 

The  other  got  up,  white  about  the  mouth.  "I  think  I 
do,"  said  Andy.  "I'm  sick  inside." 

"Where's  supper?"  demanded  Jasper. 

Andy  sat  down  again,  and  began  to  consider  his  hands 


22  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

once  more.     "There's  something  wrong — something  dirty 
about  this  life." 

"Is  there?"  Uncle  Jasper  leaned  across  the  table,  and 
once  again  the  old  ghost  of  a  hope  was  flickering  behind 
his  eyes.  "Wash  off  the  dirt  with  soap,  then/' 

"Soap  won't  touch  some  kinds  of  dirt.  Uncle  Jas,  I'm 
sick  inside." 

A  picture  often  recurred  to  Jasper  Lanning  of  the  lit- 
tle boy  he  had  first  seen,  straight,  handsome — too  hand- 
some. It  came  home  to  him  now,  and  he  winked  his 
eyes  hard. 

"Who's  been  talkin'  to  you?" 

He  thought  of  the  grinning  men  of  the  saloon ;  the  hid- 
den words.  Somebody  might  have  gone  out  and  insulted 
Andy  to  his  face  for  the  first  time.  There  had  been 
plenty  of  insults  in  the  past  two  years,  since  Andy  could 
pretend  to  manhood,  but  none  that  might  not  be  over- 
looked. "Who's  been  talkin'  to  you?"  repeated  Uncle 
Jasper.  "Confound  that  Buck  Heath!  He's  the  cause 
of  all  the  trouble !" 

"Buck  Heath!  Who's  he?  Oh,  I  remember.  What's 
he  got  to  do  with  the  rotten  life  we  lead  here,  Uncle 
Jas?" 

"So?"  said  the  old  man  slowly.     "He  ain't  nothin'?" 

"Bah!"  remarked  Andy.  "You  want  me  to  go  out 
and  fight  him?  I  won't.  I  got  no  love  for  fighting. 
It  doesn't  buy  me  anything.  I  don't  like  to  talk  to  peo- 
ple when  they're  mad.  Makes  me  sort  of  sickish." 

"Heaven  above !"  the  older  man  invoked.  "Ain't  you 
got  shame  ?  My  blood  in  you,  too !" 

"Don't  talk  like  that,"  said  Andy  with  a  certain  amount 
of  reserve  which  was  not  natural  to  him.  "You  bother 
me.  I  want  a  little  silence  and  a  chance  to  think  things 


ANDY  EXAMINES  HIS  HANDS  23 

out.  There's  something  wrong  in  the  way  I've  been 
living." 

"You're  the  last  to  find  it  out." 

"If  you  keep  this  up  I'm  going  to  take  a  walk  so  I  can 
have  quiet." 

"You'll  sit  there,  son,  till  I'm  through  with  you.  Now, 
Andrew,  these  years  I've  been  savin'  up  for  this  moment 
when  I  was  sure  that " 

To  his  unutterable  astonishment  Andy  rose  and  stepped 
between  him  and  the  door.  "Uncle  Jas,"  he  said,  "mostly 
I  got  a  lot  of  respect  for  you  and  what  you  think.  To- 
night I  don't  care  what  you  or  anybody  else  has  to  say. 
Just  one  thing  matters.  I  feel  I've  been  living  in  the 
dirt.  I'm  going  out  and  see  what's  wrong.  Good 
night." 


CHAPTER  III 

IN  THE  SADDLE 

UNCLE  JAS   was   completely   bowled  over.     Over 
against  the  wall  as  the  door  closed  he  was  saying 
to  himself:     "What's  happened?    What's  happened?" 
As  far  as  he  could  make  out  his  nephew  retained  very 
little  fear  of  the  authority  of  Jasper  Lanning. 

One  thing  became  clear  to  the  old  man.  There  had 
to  be  a  decision  between  his  nephew  and  some  full-grown 
man,  otherwise  Andy  was  very  apt  to  grow  up  into  a 
sneaking  coward.  And  in  the  matter  of  a  contest  Jasper 
could  not  imagine  a  better  trial  horse  than  Buck  Heath. 
For  Buck  was  known  to  be  violent  with  his  hands,  but 
he  was  not  likely  to  draw  his  gun,  and,  more  than  this, 
he  might  even  be  bluffed  down  without  making  a  show 
of  a  fight.  Uncle  Jasper  left  his  house  supperless,  and 
struck  down  the  street  until  he  came  to  the  saloon. 

He  found  Buck  Heath  warming  to  his  work,  resting 
both  elbows  on  the  bar.  Bill  Dozier  was  with  him,  Bill 
who  was  the  black  sheep  in  the  fine  old  Dozier  family. 
His  brother,  Hal  Dozier,  was  by  many  odds  the  most 
respected  and  the  most  feared  man  in  the  region,  but  of 
all  the  good  Dozier  qualities  Bill  inherited  only  their 
fighting  capacity.  He  fought ;  he  loved  trouble ;  and  for 
that  reason,  and  not  because  he  needed  the  money,  he 
was  now  acting  as  a  deputy  sheriff.  He  was  jesting  with 
Buck  Heath  in  a  rather  superior  manner,  half  contemptu- 
ous, half  amused  by  Buck's  alcoholic  swaggerings.  And 
Buck  was  just  sober  enough  to  perceive  that  he  was  being 


IN  THE  SADDLE  25 

held  lightly.  He  hated  Dozier  for  that  treatment,  but 
he  feared  him  too  much  to  take  open  offense.  It  was  at 
this  opportune  moment  that  old  man  Lanning,  apparently 
half  out  of  breath,  touched  Buck  on  the  elbow. 

As  Buck  turned  with  a  surly  "What  the  darnation?" 
the  other  whispered :  "Be  on  your  way,  Buck.  Get  out 
of  town,  and  get  out  of  trouble.  My  boy  hears  you  been 
talkin'  about  him,  and  he  allows  as  how  he'll  get  you. 
He's  out  for  you  now." 

The  fumes  cleared  sufficiently  from  Buck  Heath's  mind 
to  allow  him  to  remember  that  Jasper  Lanning's  boy  was 
no  other  than  the  milk-blooded  Andy.  He  told  Jasper 
to  lead  his  boy  on.  There  was  a  reception  committee 
waiting  for  him  there  in  the  person  of  one  Buck  Heath. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Buck,"  said  Jasper,  glancing  over  his 
shoulder.  "Don't  you  know  that  Andy's  a  crazy,  man- 
killin'  fool  when  he  gets  started  ?  And  he's  out  for  blood 
now.  You  just  slide  out  of  town  and  come  back  when 
his  blood's  cooled  down." 

Buck  Heath  took  another  drink  from  the  bottle  in  his 
pocket,  and  then  regarded  Jasper  moodily.  "Partner," 
he  declared  gloomily,  putting  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of 
Jasper,  "maybe  Andy's  a  man-eater,  but  I'm  a  regular 
Andy-eater,  and  here's  the  place  where  I  go  and  get  my 
feed.  Lemme  loose!" 

He  kicked  open  the  door  of  the  saloon.  "Where  is 
he?"  demanded  the  roaring  Andy-eater.  Less  savagely, 
he  went  on :  "I'm  lookin'  for  my  meat !" 

Jasper  Lanning  and  Bill  Dozier  exchanged  glances  of 
understanding.  "Partly  drunk,  but  mostly  yaller,"  ob- 
served Bill  Dozier.  "Soon  as  the  air  cools  him  off  out- 
side he'll  mount  his  hoss  and  get  on  his  way.  But,  say, 
is  your  boy  really  out  for  his  scalp  ?" 


26  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

"Looks  that  way,"  declared  Jasper  with  tolerable 
gravity. 

"I  didn't  know  he  was  that  kind,"  said  Bill  Dozier. 
And  Jasper  flushed,  for  the  imputation  was  clear.  They 
went  together  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 

It  appeared  that  Bill  Dozier  was  right.  After  stand- 
ing in  the  middle  of  the  street  in  the  twilight  for  a  mo- 
ment, Buck  Heath  turned  and  went  straight  for  his  horse. 
A  low  murmur  passed  around  the  saloon,  for  other  men 
were  at  the  windows  watching.  They  had  heard  Buck's 
talk  earlier  in  the  day,  and  they  growled  as  they  saw  him 
turn  tail.  He  would  have  no  pleasant  reception  when 
he  next  returned  to  Martindale. 

Two  moments  more  and  Buck  would  have  been  on  his 
horse,  but  in  those  two  moments  luck  took  a  hand. 
Around  the  corner  came  Andrew  Lanning  with  his  head 
bowed  in  thought.  At  once  a  roar  went  up  from  every 
throat  in  the  saloon:  "There's  your  man.  Go  to  him!" 

Buck  Heath  turned  from  his  horse;  Andrew  lifted  his 
head.  They  were  face  to  face,  and  it  was  hard  to  tell 
to  which  one  of  them  the  other  was  the  least  welcome. 
But  Andrew  spoke  first.  A  thick  silence  had  fallen  in 
the  saloon.  Most  of  the  onlookers  wore  careless  smiles, 
for  the  caliber  of  these  two  was  known,  and  no  one  ex- 
pected violence;  but  Jasper  Lanning,  at  the  door,  stood 
with  a  sick  face.  He  was  praying  in  the  silence. 

Every  one  could  hear  Andrew  say:  "I  hear  you've 
been  making  a  talk  about  me,  Buck?" 

It  was  a  fair  enough  opening.  The  blood  ran  more 
freely  in  the  veins  of  Jasper.  Perhaps  the  quiet  of  his 
boy  had  not  been  altogether  the  quiet  of  cowardice. 

"Aw,"  answered  Buck  Heath,  "don't  you  be  takin' 
everything  you  hear  for  gospel.  What  kind  of  talk  do 
you  mean?" 


IN  THE  SADDLE  27 

"He's  layin'  down/'  said  Bill  Dozier,  and  his  voice  was 
soft  but  audible  in  the  saloon.  'The  skunk !" 

"I  was  about  to  say,"  said  Andrew,  "that  I  think  you 
had  no  cause  for  talk.  I've  done  you  no  harm,  Buck." 

The  hush  in  the  saloon  became  thicker;  eyes  of  pity 
turned  on  that  proved  man,  Jasper  Lanning.  He  had 
bowed  his  head.  And  the  words  of  the  younger  man 
had  an  instant  effect  on  Buck  Heath.  They  seemed  to 
infuriate  him. 

"You've  done  me  no  harm?"  he  echoed.  He  let  his 
voice  out;  he  even  glanced  back  and  took  pleasurable 
note  of  the  crowded  faces  behind  the  dim  windows  of 
the  saloon.  Just  then  Geary,  the  saloon  keeper,  lighted 
one  of  the  big  lamps,  and  at  once  all  the  faces  at  the 
windows  became  black  silhouettes.  "You  done  me  no 
harm?"  repeated  Buck  Heath.  "Ain't  you  been  goin' 
about  makin'  a  talk  that  you  was  after  me  ?  Well,  son, 
here  I  am.  Now  let's  see  you  eat !" 

"I've  said  nothing  about  you,"  declared  Andy.  There 
was  a  groan  from  the  saloon.  Once  more  all  eyes  flashed 
across  to  Jasper  Lanning. 

"Bah!"  snorted  Buck  Heath,  and  raised  his  hand.  To 
crown  the  horror,  the  other  stepped  back.  A  little  puff 
of  alkali  dust  attested  the  movement. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  roared  Buck,  "you  ain't  fittin'  for  a 
man's  hand  to  touch,  you  ain't.  A  hosswhip  is  more 
your  style." 

From  the  pommel  of  his  saddle  he  snatched  his  quirt. 
It  whirled,  hummed  in  the  air,  and  then  cracked  on  the 
shoulders  of  Andrew.  In  the  dimness  of  the  saloon  door 
a  gun  flashed  in  the  hand  of  Jasper  Lanning.  It  was  a 
swift  draw,  but  he  was  not  in  time  to  shoot,  for  Andy, 
with  a  cry,  ducked  in  under  the  whip  as  it  raised  for 
the  second  blow  and  grappled  with  Buck  Heath.  They 


28  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

swayed,  then  separated  as  though  they  had  been  torn 
apart.  But  the  instant  of  contact  had  told  Andy  a  hun- 
dred things.  He  was  much  smaller  than  the  other,  but 
he  knew  that  he  was  far  and  away  stronger  after  that 
grapple.  It  cleared  his  brain,  and  his  nerves  ceased 
jumping. 

"Keep  off/'  he  said.     "I've  no  wish  to  harm  you." 

"You  houn'  dog!"  yelled  Buck,  and  leaped  in  with  a 
driving  fist. 

It  bounced  off  the  shoulder  of  Andrew.  At  the  same 
time  he  saw  those  banked  heads  at  the  windows  of  the 
saloon,  and  knew  it  was  a  trap  for  him.  All  the  scorn 
and  the  grief  which  had  been  piling  up  in  him,  all  the 
cold  hurt  went  into  the  effort  as  he  stepped  in  and  snapped 
his  fist  into  the  face  of  Buck  Heath.  He  rose  with  the 
blow;  all  his  energy,  from  wrist  to  instep,  was  in  that 
lifting  drive.  Then  there  was  a  jarring  impact  that  made 
his  arm  numb  to  the  shoulder.  Buck  Heath  looked 
blankly  at  him,  wavered,  and  pitched  loosely  forward  on 
his  face.  And  his  head  bounced  back  as  it  struck  the 
ground.  It  was  a  horrible  thing  to  see,  but  it  brought 
one  wild  yell  of  joy  from  the  saloon — the  voice  of  Jasper 
Lanning. 

Andrew  had  dropped  to  his  knees  and  turned  the  body 
upon  its  back.  The  stone  had  been  half  buried  in  the 
dust,  but  it  had  cut  a  deep,  ragged  gash  on  the  forehead 
of  Buck.  His  eyes  were  open,  glazed ;  his  mouth  sagged ; 
and  as  the  first  panic  seized  Andy  he  fumbled  at  the  heart 
of  the  senseless  man  and  felt  no  beat. 

"Dead!"  exclaimed  Andy,  starting  to  his  feet.  Men 
were  running  toward  him  from  the  saloon,  and  their 
eagerness  made  him  see  a  picture  he  had  once  seen  before. 
A  man  standing  in  the  middle  of  a  courtroom ;  the  place 


IN  THE  SADDLE  29 

crowded;  the  judge  speaking   from  behind  the   desk: 
" to  be  hanged  by  the  neck  until " 

A  revolver  came  into  the  hand  of  Andrew.  And  when 
he  found  his  voice  it  was  as  thin  and  high  as  the  voice 
of  a  girl,  for  there  was  a  snapping  tension  in  it. 

"Stop!"  he  called.  The  scattering  line  stopped  like 
horses  thrown  back  on  their  haunches  by  jerked  bridle 
reins.  "And  don't  make  no  move,"  continued  Andy, 
gathering  the  reins  of  Buck's  horse  behind  him.  A  blan- 
ket of  silence  had  dropped  on  the  street. 

'The  first  gent  that  shows  metal,"  said  Andy,  "I'll 
drill  him.  Keep  steady!" 

He  turned  and  flashed  into  the  saddle.  Once  more 
his  gun  covered  them.  He  found  his  mind  working 
swiftly,  calmly.  His  knees  pressed  the  long  holster  of 
an  old-fashioned  rifle.  He  knew  that  make  of  gun  from 
toe  to  foresight ;  he  could  assemble  it  in  the  dark. 

"You,  Perkins !  Get  your  hands  away  from  your  hip. 
Higher,  blast  you !" 

He  was  obeyed.  His  voice  was  still  thin,  but  it  kept 
that  line  of  hands  high  above  their  heads.  When  he 
moved  his  gun  the  whole  line  winced;  it  was  as  if  his 
will  were  communicated  to  them  on  electric  currents.  He 
sent  his  horse  into  a  walk ;  into  a  trot ;  then  dropped  along 
the  saddle,  and  was  plunging  at  full  speed  down  the 
street,  leaving  a  trail  of  sharp  alkali  dust  behind  him  and 
a  long,  tingling  yell. 


CHAPTER  IV 

BILL  TAKES  THE  TRAIL 

ONLY  one  man  in  the  crowd  was  old  enough  to  rec- 
ognize that  yell,  and  the  one  man  was  Jasper  Lan- 
ning.  A  great,  singing  happiness  filled  his  heart  and  his 
throat.  But  the  shouting  of  the  men  as  they  tumbled 
into  their  saddles  cleared  his  brain.  He  called  to  Deputy 
Bill  Dozier,  who  was  kneeling  beside  the  prostrate  -form 
of  Buck  Heath :  "Call  'em  off,  Bill.  Call  'em  off,  or, 
by  the  Lord,  I'll  take  a  hand  in  this !  He  done  it  in  self- 
defense.  He  didn't  even  pull  a  gun  on  Buck.  Bill,  call 
'em  off!" 

And  Bill  did  it  most  effectually.  He  straightened,  and 
then  got  up.  "Some  of  you  fools  get  some  sense,  will 
you?"  he  called.  "Buck  ain't  dead;  he's  just  knocked 
out!" 

It  brought  them  back,  a  shame-faced  crew,  laughing 
at  each  other.  "Where's  a  doctor?"  demanded  Bill 
Dozier. 

Some  one  who  had  an  inkling  of  how  wounds  should 
be  cared  for  was  instantly  at  work  over  Buck.  "He's 
not  dead,"  pronounced  this  authority,  "but  he's  danged 
close  to  it.  Fractured  skull,  that's  what  he's  got.  And 
a  fractured  jaw,  too,  looks  to  me.  Yep,  you  can  hear 
the  bone  grate!" 

Jasper  Lanning  was  in  the  midst  of  a  joyous  mono- 
logue. "You  seen  it,  boys  ?  One  punch  done  it.  That's 
what  the  Lannings  are — the  one-punch  kind.  And  you 
seen  him  get  to  his  gun?  Handy!  Lord,  but  it  done 


BILL  TAKES  THE  TRAIL  31 

me  good  to  see  him  mosey  that  piece  of  iron  off'n  his 
hip.  And  you  looked  sick,  Gus,  when  he  had  you  cov- 
ered. What  was  it  you  said  about  my  boy  and  nerve 
to-day?  Maybe  you've  forgot.  Well,  I'll  promise  you 
I  won't  never  tell  him.  Neat,  wasn't  it?  Clean  get- 
away. See  him  take  that  saddle  ?  Where  was  you  with 
your  gat,  Joe  ?  Nowhere !  Looked  to  me  like " 

The  voice  of  Bill  Dozier  broke  in :  "I  want  a  posse. 
Who'll  ride  with  Bill  Dozier  to-night?" 

It  sobered  Jasper  Lanning.  "What  d'you  mean  by 
that  ?"  he  asked.  "Didn't  the  boy  fight  clean  ?" 

"Maybe,"  admitted  Dozier.  "But  Buck  may  kick  out. 
And  if  he  dies  they's  got  to  be  a  judge  talk  to  your  boy. 
Come  on.  I  want  volunteers." 

"Dozier,  what's  all  this  fool  talk?" 

"Don't  bother  me,  Lanning.  I  got  a  duty  to  perform, 
ain't  I?  Think  I'm  going  to  let  'em  say  later  on  that 
anybody  done  this  and  then  got  away  from  Bill  Dozier? 
Not  me!" 

"Bill,"  said  Jasper,  "I  read  in  your  mind.  You're 
lookin'  for  action,  and  you  want  to  get  it  out  of  Andy." 

"I  want  nothin'  but  to  get  him  back." 

"Think  he'll  let  you  come  close  enough  to  talk?  He'll 
think  you  want  him  for  murder,  that's  what.  Keep  off 
of  this  boy,  Bill.  Let  him  hear  the  news ;  then  he'll  come 
back  well  enough." 

"You  waste  my  time,"  said  Bill,  "and  all  the  while  a 
man  that  the  law  wants  is  puttin'  ground  between  him 
and  Martindale.  Now,  boys,  you  hear  me  talk.  Who's 
with  Bill  Dozier  to  bring  back  this  milk-fed  kid?" 

It  brought  a  snarl  from  Jasper  Lanning.  "Why  don't 
you  go  after  him  by  yourself,  Dozier?  I  had  your  job 
once  and  I  didn't  ask  no  helpers  on  it." 

But  Bill  Dozier  apparently  had  no  liking  for  a  lonely 


32  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

ride.  He  made  his  demand  once  more,  and  the  volun- 
teers came  out.  There  is  always  a  fascination  about  a 
pursuit,  and  it  acted  now  to  make  every  one  of  the  crowd 
come  close  about  the  deputy.  He  chose  from  them  wisely, 
for  he  knew  them  all.  He  picked  them  for  the  sake  of 
their  steady  hands,  their  cool  heads,  and  also  for  their 
horses.  A  good  many  offered  themselves  out  of  mere 
shame,  but  Bill  Dozier  knew  them,  and  not  one  was  in- 
cluded. In  five  minutes  he  had  selected  five  sturdy  men, 
and  every  one  of  the  five  was  a  man  whose  name  was 
known. 

They  went  down  the  street  of  Martindale  without 
shouting  and  at  a  steady  lope  which  tv  ,1*  horses  could 
keep  up  indefinitely.  Old  Jasper  followed  them  to  the 
end  of  the  village  and  kept  on  watching  through  the  dusk 
until  the  six  horsemen  loomed  on  the  hill  beyond  against 
the  sky  line.  They  were  still  cantering,  and  they  rode 
close  together  like  a  tireless  pack  of  wolves.  After  this 
old  Jasper  went  back  to  his  house,  and  when  the  door 
closed  behind  him  a  lonely  echo  went  through  the  place. 

"Bah !"  said  Jasper.     "I'm  getting  soft !" 

In  the  meantime  the  posse  went  on,  regardless  of  direc- 
tion. There  were  only  two  possible  paths  for  a  horse- 
man out  of  Martindale;  east  and  west  the  mountains 
blocked  the  way,  and  young  Lanning  had  started  north. 
Straight  ahead  of  them  the  mountains  shot  up  on  either 
side  of  Grant's  Pass,  and  toward  this  natural  landmark 
Bill  Dozier  led  the  way.  Not  that  he  expected  to  have 
to  travel  as  far  as  this.  He  felt  fairly  certain  that  the 
fugitive  would  ride  out  his  horse  at  full  speed,  and  then 
he  would  camp  for  the  night  and  make  a  fire. 

Andrew  Lanning  was  town  bred  and  soft  of  skin  from 
the  work  at  the  forge.  When  the  biting  night  air  got 
through  his  clothes  he  would  need  warmth  from  a  fire. 


BILL  TAKES  THE  TRAIL  33 

Bill  Dozier  led  on  his  men  for  three  hours  at  a  steady 
pace  until  they  came  to  Sullivan's  ranch  house  in  the  val- 
ley. The  place  was  dark,  but  the  deputy  threw  a  loose 
circle  of  his  men  around  the  house,  and  then  knocked  at 
the  front  door.  Old  man  Sullivan  answered  in  his  bare 
feet.  Did  he  know  of  the  passing  of  young  Lanning? 
Not  only  that,  but  he  had  sold  Andrew  a  horse.  It 
seemed  that  Andrew  was  making  a  hurried  trip;  that 
Buck  Heath  had  loaned  him  his  horse  for  the  first  leg  of 
it,  and  that  Buck  would  call  later  for  the  animal.  It  had 
sounded  strange,  but  Sullivan  was  not  there  to  ask  ques- 
tions. He  had  led  Andrew  to  the  corral  and  told  him 
to  make  his  choice. 

"There  was  an  old  pinto  in  there,"  said  Sullivan,  "all 
leather  in  that  hoss.  You  know  him,  Joe.  Well,  the 
boy  runs  his  eye  over  the  bunch,  and  then  picks  pinto 
right  off.  I  said  he  wasn't  for  sale,  but  he  wouldn't  take 
anything  else.  I  figured  a  stiff  price,  and  then  added  a 
hundred  to  it.  Lanning  didn't  wink.  He  took  the  horse, 
but  he  didn't  pay  cash.  Told  me  I'd  have  to  trust  him." 

Bill  Dozier  bade  Sullivan  farewell,  gathered  his  five 
before  the  house,  and  made  them  a  speech.  Bill  had  a 
long,  lean  face,  a  misty  eye,  and  a  pair  of  drooping,  sad 
mustaches.  As  Jasper  Lanning  once  said :  "Bill  Dozier 
always  looked  like  he  was  just  away  from  a  funeral  or 
just  goin'  to  one."  This  night  the  dull  eye  of  Bill  was 
alight. 

"Gents,"  he  said,  "maybe  you-all  is  disappointed.  I 
heard  some  talk  comin'  up  here  that  maybe  the  boy  had 
laid  over  for  the  night  in  Sullivan's  house.  Which  he 
may  be  a  fool,  but  he  sure  ain't  a  plumb  fool.  But, 
speakin*  personal,  this  trail  looks  more  and  more  inter- 
estin'  to  me.  Here  he's  left  Buck's  hoss,  so  he  ain't 
exactly  a  hoss  thief — yet.  And  he's  promised  to  pay  for 


34  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

pinto,  so  that  don't  make  him  a  crook.  But  when  pinto 
gives  out  Andy'll  be  in  country  where  he  mostly  ain't 
known.  He  can't  take  things  on  trust,  and  he'll  mostly 
take  'em,  anyway.  Boys,  looks  to  me  like  we  was  after 
the  real  article.  Anybody  weakenin'  ?" 

It  was  suggested  that  the  boy  would  be  overtaken  be- 
fore pinto  gave  out ;  it  was  even  suggested  that  this  wait- 
ing for  Andrew  Lanning  to  commit  a  crime  was  peril- 
ously like  forcing  him  to  become  a  criminal.  To  all  of 
this  the  deputy  listened  sadly,  combing  his  mustaches. 
The  hunger  for  the  man  hunt  is  like  the  hunger  for  food, 
and  Bill  Dozier  had  been  starved  for  many  a  day.  When 
he  stood  before  the  saloon,  with  his  arms  held  above  his 
head  like  the  rest  of  the  crowd,  he  had  sensed  many  pos- 
sibilities in  young  Lanning,  and  he  was  more  and  more 
determined  as  the  trail  wore  on  to  develop  the  chances 
to  the  uttermost. 

"Partner,"  said  Bill  to  the  last  speaker,  "ain't  we 
makin'  all  the  speed  we  can?  Ain't  it  what  I  want  to 
come  up  to  the  fool  kid  and  grab  him  before  he  makes 
a  hoss  thief  or  somethin*  out  of  himself?  You  gents 
feed  your  bosses  the  spur  and  leave  the  thinkin'  to  me. 
I  got  a  pile  of  hunches." 

There  was  no  questioning  of  such  a  known  man  as 
Bill  Dozier.  The  six  went  rattling  up  the  valley  at  a 
smart  pace.  Yet  Andy's  change  of  horses  at  Sullivan's 
place  changed  the  entire  problem.  He  had  ridden  his 
first  mount  to  a  stagger  at  full  speed,  and  it  was  to  be 
expected  that,  having  built  up  a  comfortable  lead,  he 
would  settle  his  second  horse  to  a  steady  pace  and  main- 
tain it. 

All  night  the  six  went  on,  with  Bill  Dozier's  long- 
striding  chestnut  setting  the  pace.  He  made  no  effort 
toward  a  spurt  now.  Andrew  Lanning  led  them  by  a 


BILL  TAKES  THE  TRAIL  35 

full  hour's  riding  on  a  comparatively  fresh  horse,  and, 
unless  he  were  foolish  enough  to  indulge  in  another  wild 
spurt,  they  could  not  wear  him  down  in  this  first  stage 
of  the  journey.  There  was  only  the  chance  that  he  would 
build  a  fire  recklessly  near  to  the  trail,  but  still  they  came 
to  no  sign  of  light,  and  then  the  dawn  broke  and  Bill 
Dozier  found  unmistakable  signs  of  a  trotting  horse 
which  went  straight  up  the  valley.  There  were  no  other 
fresh  tracks  pointing  in  the  same  direction,  and  this  must 
be  Andy's  horse.  And  the  fact  that  he  was  trotting  told 
many  things.  He  was  certainly  saving  his  mount  for  a 
long  grind.  Bill  Dozier  looked  about  at  his  men  in  the 
gray  morning.  They  were  a  hard-faced  lot;  he  had  not 
picked  them  for  tenderness.  They  were  weary  now,  but 
the  fugitive  must  be  still  wearier,  for  he  had  fear  to  keep 
him  company  and  burden  his  shoulders. 

And  now  they  came  to  a  surprising  break  in  the  trail. 
It  twisted  from  the  floor  of  the  valley  up  a  steep  slope, 
crossed  the  low  crest  of  the  hills,  dipped  into  a  ravine 
and  out  again,  and  finally  came  out  above  a  broad  and 
open  valley. 

"What  does  he  mean,"  said  Bill  Dozier  aloud,  "by 
breakin'  for  Jack  Merchant's  house?" 


CHAPTER  V 

FEAR   OR  IRON   DUST 

THE  yell  with  which  Andrew  Lanning  had  shot  out 
of  M'artindale,  and  which  only  Jasper  Lanning  had 
recognized,  was  no  more  startling  to  the  men  of  the  vil- 
lage than  it  was  to  Andrew  himself.  Mingled  in  an 
ecstasy  of  emotion,  there  was  fear,  hate,  anger,  grief,  and 
the  joy  of  freedom  in  that  cry;  but  it  froze  the  marrow 
of  Andy's  bones  to  hear  it. 

Fear,  most  of  all,  was  driving  him  out  of  the  village. 
Just  as  he  rushed  around  the  bend  of  the  street  he  looked 
back  to  the  crowd  of  men  tumbling  upon  their  horses; 
every  hand  there  would  be  against  him.  He  knew  them. 
He  ran  over  their  names  and  faces.  Thirty  seconds  be- 
fore he  would  rather  have  walked  on  the  edge  of  a  cliff 
than  rouse  the  anger  of  a  single  one  among  these  men, 
and  now,  by  one  blow,  he  had  started  them  all  after  him. 

Once,  as  he  topped  the  rise,  the  folly  of  attempting 
to  escape  from  their  long-proved  cunning  made  him  draw 
in  on  the  rein  a  little;  but  the  horse  only  snorted  and 
shook  his  head  and  burst  into  a  greater  effort  of  speed. 
After  all,  the  horse  was  right,  Andy  decided.  For  the 
moment  he  thought  of  turning  and  facing  that  crowd, 
but  he  remembered  stories  about  men  who 'had  killed 
the  enemy  in  fair  fight,  but  who  had  been  tried  by  a  mob 
jury  and  strung  to  the  nearest  tree. 

Any  sane  man  might  have  told  Andrew  that  those 
days  were  some  distance  in  the  past,  but  Andy  made  no 
distinction  between  periods.  He  knew  the  most  excit- 


FEAR  OR  IRON  DUST  37 

ing  events  which  had  happened  around  Martindale  in  the 
past  fifty  years,  and  he  saw  no  difference  between  one 
generation  and  the  next.  In  fact,  he  was  not  given  to 
sifting  evidence.  With  Uncle  Jasper  to  manage  his 
affairs  he  had  had  little  to  do  with  men  and  their  ways, 
and  his  small  contact  with  people  in  the  blacksmith  shop, 
outside  of  purely  business  dealings,  had  all  gone  to  con- 
vince him  that  men  near  Martindale  were  a  stark  and 
terrible  lot. 

Was  not  Uncle  Jasper  himself  continually  dinning  into 
his  ears  the  terrible  possibilities  of  trouble?  Was  not 
Uncle  Jasper,  even  in  his  old  age,  when  no  one  but  a 
greaser  would  dream  of  lifting  a  hand  against  him,  re- 
ligiously exacting  in  his  hour  or  more  of  gun  exercise 
each  day?  Did  not  Uncle  Jasper  force  Andy  to  go 
through  the  same  maneuvers  for  twice  as  long  between 
sunset  and  sunrise?  And  why  all  these  precautions  and 
endless  preparations  if  these  men  of  Martindale  were  not 
killers? 

It  might  have  occurred  to  Andy  that  no  one  had 
been  killed  in  recent  months,  but  it  did  not  occur.  He 
was  thinking  back  to  the  stories  of  Jasper,  when  Mar- 
tindale, through  a  period  of  one  bloody  six  months,  had 
averaged  over  two  killings  a  day.  That  was  in  a  period 
when  a  gold-rush  population  clogged  the  streets  and 
bulged  the  saloons.  But  still  Andy  was  unable  to  dis- 
tinguish between  past  and  present.  It  might  seem  strange 
that  he  could  have  lived  so  long  among  these  people  with- 
out knowing  them  better,  but  Andy  had  taken  from  his 
mother  a  little  strain  of  shyness.  He  never  opened  his 
mind  to  other  people,  and  they  really  never  opened  them- 
selves to  Andy  Lanning.  The  men  of  Martindale  wore 
guns,  and  the  conclusion  had  always  been  apparent  to 


38  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

Andy  that  they  wore  guns  because,  in  a  pinch,  they  were 
ready  to  kill  men. 

And  Andy  Lanning,  with  a  sob  in  his  throat  and  his 
eyes  drawn  to  glinting  points,  sent  his  horse  rushing 
down  the  valley. 

The  fear  of  wild  beasts  is  terrible  enough,  and  there 
are  few  horrors  as  great  as  the  terror  which  the  criminal 
feels  when  he  hears  the  bloodhounds  crying  down  his 
trail;  but  of  all  fears  there  is  none  like  the  fear  of  man 
for  man.  Because  it  is  intelligence  following  intelli- 
gence. If  the  pursued  conceives  the  most  adroit  plan 
with  his  hard-working  imagination  he  can  never  be  sure 
that  one  of  his  enemies  may  not  reach  a  similar  con- 
clusion. 

To  Andy  Lanning,  as  fear  whipped  him  north  out  of 
Martindale,  there  seemed  no  pleasure  or  safety  in  the 
world  except  in  the  speed  of  his  horse  and  the  whir  of 
the  air  against  his  face.  When  that  speed  faltered  he 
went  to  the  quirt.  He  spurred  mercilessly.  Yet  he  had 
ridden  his  horse  out  to  a  stagger  before  he  reached  old 
Sullivan's  place.  Only  when  the  forefeet  of  the  mustang 
began  to  pound  did  he  realize  his  folly  in  exhausting  his 
horse  when  the  race  was  hardly  begun.  He  went  into 
the  ranch  house  to  get  a  new  mount. 

He  had  seen  old  Sullivan  many  times  before,  but  he 
had  never  seen  him  with  such  eyes.  The  pointed  face 
of  the  old  man  held  a  wealth  of  cunning  and  knowledge. 
When  he  opened  the  door  he  stood  for  a  long  moment 
simply  looking  at  Andy  and  saying  nothing,  and.  for  the 
space  of  one  or  two  sickening  heartbeats  it  seemed  to 
Andy  that  the  news  must  have  already  reached  the  ranch 
house.  Knowing  that  this  was  impossible,  he  steadied 
himself  with  a  great  effort.  It  was  simply  the  habitual 
silence  of  Sullivan,  and  not  a  suspicion.  After  a  mo- 


FEAR  OR  IRON  DUST  39 

ment  they  were  out  in  the  corral  looking  over  the  horses 
with  the  aid  of  a  lantern. 

There  was  nothing  dangerous  in  that  adventure,  but 
when  Andy  turned  his  back  on  the  house  and  started 
again  up  the  valley  his  nerves  were  singing.  He  re- 
hearsed the  cock-and-bull  story  he  had  stammered  out 
to  Sullivan.  What  if  the  shrewd  old  fellow  had  read 
everything  between  the  lines? 

The  muscles  of  Andy's  back  quivered  in  hysterical 
expectation  of  the  bullet  that  might  strike  among  them. 
And  then  the  kind  darkness  settled  around  him. 

When  he  was  calmer  he  would  rebuild  the  scene  with 
Sullivan  with  more  truth.  He  realized  that  he  had  played 
his  part  well — astonishingly  well.  His  voice  had  not 
quivered.  His  eye  had  met  that  of  the  old  rancher  every 
moment.  His  hand  had  been  as  steady  as  iron. 

Something  that  Uncle  Jasper  had  said  recurred  to  him, 
something  about  iron  dust.  He  felt  now  that  there  was 
indeed  a  strong,  hard  metal  in  him ;  fear  had  put  it  there 
— or  was  it  fear  itself  ?  Was  it  not  fear  that  had  brought 
the  gun  into  his  hand  so  easily  when  the  crowd  rushed 
him  from  the  door  of  the  saloon  ?  Was  it  not  fear  that 
had  made  his  nerves  so  rocklike  as  he  faced  that  crowd 
and  made  his  get-away  ? 

He  was  on  one  side  now,  and  the  world  was  on  the 
other.  He  turned  in  the  saddle  arid  probed  the  thick 
blackness  with  his  eyes;  then  he  sent  the  pinto  on  at  an 
easy,  ground-devouring  lope.  Sometimes,  as  the  ravine 
narrowed,  the  close  walls  made  the  creaking  of  the  sad- 
dle leather  loud  in  his  ears,  and  the  puffing  of  pinto,  who 
hated  work ;  sometimes  the  hoofs  scuffed  noisily  through 
gravel;  but  usually  the  soft  sand  muffled  the  noise  of 
hoofs,  and  there  was  a  silence  as  dense  as  the  night 
around  Andy  Lanning. 


40  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

Thinking  back,  he  felt  that  it  was  all  absurd  and  dream- 
like. He  had  never  hurt  a  man  before  in  his  life.  Mar- 
tindale  knew  it  Why  could  he  not  go  back,  face  them, 
give  up  his  gun,  wait  for  the  law  to  speak  ? 

But  when  he  thought  of  this  he  thought  a  moment 
later  of  a  crowd  rushing  their  horses  through  the  night, 
leaning  over  their  saddles  to  break  the  wind  more  easily, 
and  all  ready  to  kill  on  this  man  trail. 

All  at  once  a  great  hate  welled  up  in  him,  and  he  went 
on  with  gritting  teeth. 

It  was  out  of  this  anger,  oddly  enough,  that  the 
memory  of  the  girl  came  to  him.  She  was  like  the  fall- 
ing of  this  starlight,  pure,  aloof,  and  strange  and  gentle. 
It  seemed  to  Andrew  Lanning  that  the  instant  of  seeing 
her  outweighed  the  rest  of  his  life,  but  he  would  never 
see  her  again.  He  began  to  think  with  the  yearning  of 
a  boy — foolish  thoughts.  If  he  could  make  a  bargain 
with  those  who  followed  him.  If  he  could  make  them  let 
him  have  time  to  see  her  for  a  moment  he  would  go  on 
and  he  would  attempt  no  trick  to  get  away.  But  how 
could  he  see  her,  even  if  Bill  Dozier  and  his  men  allowed 
it?  If  he  saw  her  what  would  he  say  to  her?  It  would 
not  be  necessary  to  speak.  One  glance  would  be  enough. 
He  felt  that  he  could  carry  away  a  treasure  to  last  a 
lifetime  in  another  glance. 

But,  sooner  or  later,  Bill  Dozier  would  reach  him. 
Why  not  sooner?  Why  not  take  the  chance,  ride  to 
John  Merchant's  ranch,  break  a  way  to  the  room  where 
the  girl  slept  this  night,  smash  open  the  door,  look  at  her 
once,  and  then  fight  his  way  out  ? 

Another  time  such  a  thing  would  make  him  shudder. 
But  what  place  has  modesty  when  a  man  flees  for  his  life  ? 

He  swung  out  of  the  ravine  and  headed  across  the  hills. 
From  the  crest  the  valley  was  broad  and  dark  below  him, 


FEAR  OR  IRON  DUST  41 

and  on  the  opposite  side  the  hills  were  blacker  still.  He 
let  pinto  go  down  the  steep  slope  at  a  walk,  for  there  is 
nothing  like  a  fast  pace  downhill  to  tear  the  heart  out 
of  a  horse.  Besides,  it  came  to  him  after  he  started, 
were  not  the  men  of  Bill  Dozier  apt  to  miss  this  sudden 
swinging  of  the  trail? 

In  the  floor  of  the  valley  he  sent  pinto  again  into  the 
stretching  canter,  found  the  road,  and  went  on  with  a 
thin  cloud  of  the  alkali  dust  about  him  until  the  house 
rose  suddenly  out  of  the  ground,  a  black  mass  whose 
gables  seemed  to  look  at  him  like  so  many  heads  above 
the  treetops. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   MERCHANT    HOUSE 

THE  house  would  have  been  more  in  place  on  the  main 
street  of  a  town  than  here  in  the  mountain  desert; 
but  when  the  first  John  Merchant  had  made  his  stake  and 
could  build  his  home  as  it  pleased  him  to  build,  his  imagi- 
nation harked  back  to  a  mid- Victorian  model,  built  of 
wood,  with  high,  pointed  roofs,  many  carved  balconies 
and  windows,  and  several  towers.  These  houses  habit- 
ually seem  in  need  of  new  paint,  and,  looking  on  them, 
one  pities  the  men  and  women  who  have  lived  and  died 
there.  Such  was  the  house  which  the  first  John  Mer- 
chant built,  a  grotesque  castle  of  wood.  And  here  the 
second  John  Merchant  lived  with  his  son  Charles,  whose 
taste  had  quite  outgrown  the  house. 

But  to  the  uneducated  eye  of  Andrew  Lanning  it  was 
a  great  and  dignified  building,  something  of  which  the 
whole  countryside  was  proud.  They  would  point  it  out 
to  strangers:  "There's  the  Merchant  house.  Can  you 
raise  that  in  your  home  town?'' 

The  way  led  for  a  short  distance  through  a  grove  of 
trees;  then,  rounding  an  elbow  turn,  revealed  the  full 
view  of  the  house.  Andrew  reined  the  pinto  under  the 
trees  to  look  up  at  that  tall,  black  mass.  It  was  doubly 
dark  against  the  sky,  for  now  the  first  streaks  of  gray 
light  were  pale  along  the  eastern  horizon,  and  the  house 
seemed  to  tower  up  into  the  center  of  the  heavens.  Andy 
sighed  at  the  thought  of  stealing  through  the  great  halls 


THE  MERCHANT  HOUSE  43 

within.  Even  if  he  could  find  an  open  window,  or  if  the 
door  were  unlatched,  how  could  he  find  the  girl? 

Another  thing  troubled  him.  He  kept  canting  his  ear 
with  eternal  expectation  of  hearing  the  chorus  of  many 
hoofs  swinging  toward  him  out  of  the  darkness.  After 
all,  it  was  not  a  simple  thing  to  put  Bill  Dozier  off  the 
trail.  When  a  horse  neighed  in  one  of  the  corrals  Andy 
started  violently  and  laid  his  finger  tips  on  his  revolver 
butt 

That  false  alarm  determined  him  to  make  his  attempt 
without  further  waste  of  time.  He  swung  from  the  stir- 
rups and  went  lightly  up  the  front  steps.  A  board 
creaked  slightly  beneath  him,  and  Andy  paused  with  one 
foot  raised.  He  listened,  but  there  was  no  stir  of  alarm 
in  the  house.  Thereafter  his  footfall  was  a  feathery 
thing  that  carried  him  like  a  shadow  to  the  door.  It 
yielded  at  once  under  his  hand,  and,  stepping  through,  he 
found  himself  lost  in  utter  blackness. 

He  closed  the  door,  taking  care  that  the  spring  did  not 
make  the  lock  click,  and  then  stood  perfectly  motionless, 
listening,  probing  the  dark. 

After  a  time  the  shadows  gave  way  before  his  eyes, 
and  he  could  make  out  that  he  was  in  a  hall  with  lofty 
ceiling.  Opposite  him  there  was  a  faint  glimmer;  that 
was  a  big  mirror.  Something  wound  down  from  above 
at  a  little  distance,  and  he  made  out  that  this  was  the 
stairway.  Obviously  the  bedrooms  would  be  in  the  sec- 
ond story. 

Andy  began  the  ascent. 

He  had  occasion  to  bless  the  thick  carpet  before  he  was 
at  the  head  of  the  stairs;  he  could  have  run  up  if  he  had 
wished,  and  never  have  made  a  sound.  At  the  edge  of 
the  second  hall  he  paused  again.  The  sense  of  people 
surrounded  him.  That  indescribable  odor  of  a  house 


44  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

was  thick  in  his  nostrils ;  the  scent  of  cooking,  which  will 
not  out  the  taint  of  tobacco  smoke.  Then  directly  be- 
hind him  a  man  cleared  his  throat.  As  though  a  great 
hand  had  seized  his  shoulder  and  wrenched  him  down, 
Andy  whirled  and  dropped  to  his  knees,  the  revolver  in 
his  hand  pointing  uneasily  here  and  there  like  the  head 
of  a  snake  laboring  to  find  its  enemy. 

But  there  was  nothing  in  the  hall.  The  voice  became 
a  murmur,  and  then  Andy  knew  that  it  had  been  some 
man  speaking  in  his  sleep. 

At  least  that  room  was  not  the  room  of  the  girl.  Or 
was  she,  perhaps,  married  ?  Weak  and  sick,  Andy  rested 
his  hand  against  the  wall  and  waited  for  his  brain  to  clear, 
"She  won't  be  married,"  he  whispered  to  himself  in  the 
darkness. 

But  of  all  those  doors  up  and  down  the  hall,  which 
would  be  hers?  There  was  no  reasoning  which  could 
help  him  in  the  midst  of  that  puzzle.  He  walked  to  what 
he  judged  to  be  the  middle  of  the  hall,  turned  to  his  right, 
and  opened  the  first  door.  A  hinge  creaked,  but  it  was 
no  louder  than  the  rustle  of  silk  against  silk. 

There  were  two  windows  in  that  room,  and  each  was 
gray  with  the  dawn,  but  in  the  room  itself  the  blackness 
was  unrelieved.  There  was  the  one  dim  stretch  of  white, 
which  was  the  covering  of  the  bed;  the  furniture,  the 
chairs,  and  the  table  were  half  merged  with  the  shadows 
around  them,  and  they  were  as  vague  as  reflections  in 
muddy  water.  Andy  slipped  across  the  floor,  evaded  a 
chair  by  instinct  rather  than  by  sight,  and  leaned  over 
the  bed.  It  was  a  man,  as  he  could  tell  by  the  heavy 
breathing;  yet  he  leaned  closer  in  a  vain  effort  to  make 
surer  by  the  use  of  his  eyes. 

Then  something  changed  in  the  face  of  the  man  in  the 
bed.  It  was  an  indescribable  change.  It  was  in  effect 


THE  MERCHANT  HOUSE  45 

like  the  change  which  comes  in  the  face  of  one  we  are 
talking  to  when  we  feel  the  thought  in  his  mind  with- 
out noting  a  single  change  of  muscles;  but  Andrew  knew 
that  the  man  in  the  bed  had  opened  his  eyes.  Before 
he  could  straighten  or  stir  hands  were  thrown  up.  One 
struck  at  his  face,  and  the  fingers  were  stiff ;  one  arm  was 
cast  over  his  shoulders,  and  Andy  heard  the  intake  of 
breath  which  precedes  a  shriek.  Not  a  long  interval — 
no  more,  say,  than  the  space  required  for  the  lash  of  a 
snapping  blacksnake  to  flick  back  on  itself — but  in  that 
interim  the  hands  of  Andy  were  buried  in  the  throat  of 
his  victim. 

His  fingers,  accustomed  to  the  sway  and  quiver  of 
eight-pound  hammers  and  fourteen-pound  sledges,  sank 
through  the  flesh  and  found  the  windpipe.  And  the 
hands  of  the  other  grappled  at  his  wrists,  smashed  into 
his  face.  Andy  could  have  laughed  at  the  effort.  He 
jammed  the  shin  of  his  right  leg  just  above  the  knees 
of  the  other,  and  at  once  the  writhing  body  was  quiet. 
With  all  of  his  blood  turned  to  ice,  Andy  found,  what  he 
had  discovered  when  he  faced  the  crowd  in  Martindale, 
that  his  nerves  did  not  jump  and  that  his  heart,  instead 
of  trembling,  merely  beat  with  greater  pulses.  Fear 
filled  him  as  wine  fills  a  cup,  but  it  cleared  his  brain ;  it 
sent  a  tremendous  nervous  power  thrilling  in  his  wrists 
and  elbows.  All  the  while  he  was  watching  mercilessly 
for  the  cessation  of  the  struggles.  And  when  the  wrench- 
ing at  his  forearms  ceased  he  instantly  relaxed  his  grip. 

For  a  time  there  was  a  harsh  sound  filling  the  room, 
the  rough  intake  of  the  man's  breath;  he  was  for  the 
time  being  paralyzed  and  incapable  of  any  effort  except 
the  effort  to  fill  his  lungs.  By  the  glint  of  the  metal 
work  about  the  bits  Andy  made  out  two  bridles  hanging 
on  the  wall  near  the  bed.  Taking  them  down,  he  worked 


46  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

swiftly.  As  soon  as  the  fellow  on  the  bed  would  have 
his  breath  he  would  scream.  Yet  the  time  sufficed  Andy ; 
he  had  his  knife  out,  flicked  the  blade  open,  and  cut  off 
the  long  reins  of  the  bridles.  Then  he  went  back  to  the 
bed  and  shoved  the  cold  muzzle  of  his  revolver  into  the 
throat  of  the  other. 

There  was  a  tremor  through  the  whole  body  of  the 
man,  and  Andy  knew  that  at  that  moment  the  sense*  of 
his  victim  had  cleared. 

He  leaned  close  to  the  ear  of  the  man  and  whispered : 
"Don't  make  no  loud  talk,  partner.  Keep  cool  and 
steady.  I  don't  aim  to  hurt  you  unless  you  play  the  fool." 

Instantly  the  man  answered  in  a  similar  whisper, 
though  it  was  broken  with  panting:  "Get  that  coat  of 
mine  out  the  closet.  There — the  door  is  open.  You'll 
find  my  wallet  in  the  inside  pocket  and  about  all  you  can 
want  will  be  in  it." 

"That's  the  way,"  reassured  Andy.  "Keep  your  head 
and  use  sense.  But  it  isn't  the  coin  I  want.  You've  got 
a  red-headed  girl  in  this  house.  Where's  her  room  ?" 

His  hand  which  held  the  revolver  was  resting  on  the 
breast  of  the  man,  and  he  felt  the  heart  of  the  other  leap. 
Then  there  was  a  current  of  curses,  a  swift  hissing  of 
invective.  And  suddenly  it  came  over  Andy  that  since 
he  had  killed  one  man,  as  he  thought,  the  penalty  would 
be  no  greater  if  he  killed  ten.  All  at  once  the  life  of  this 
prostrate  fellow  on  the  bed  was  nothing  to  him. 

When  he  cut  into  that  profanity  he  meant  what  he  said. 
"Partner,  I've  got  a  pull  on  this  trigger.  Another  ounce 
will  send  you  right  up  against  eternity.  Now  cut  out 
that  line  of  .chatter  and  hear  me  talk.  I  don't  mean  the 
girl  any  harm,  but  I've  got  to  see  her." 

"You — you  cur " 

"Easy,"  said  Andy.     "That  took  you  a  long  step  on 


THE  MERCHANT  HOUSE  4Z 

your  way.  There's  a  slug  in  this  gun  just  trembling  to 
get  at  you.  And  I  tell  you  honest,  friend,  I'd  as  soon 
drill  you  as  turn  around.  Now  tell  me  where  that  girl's 
room  is?" 

"Anne  Withero?"  Only  his  breathing  was  heard  for 
a  moment.  Then:  "Two  doors  down,  on  this  side  of 
the  hall.  If  you  lay  a  hand  on  her  I'll  live  to " 

"Partner,  so  help  me  Heaven,  I  wouldn't  touch  a  lock 
of  her  hair.  Now  lie  easy  while  I  make  sure  of  you." 

And  he  promptly  trussed  the  other  in  the  bridle  reins. 
Out  of  a  pillow  case  folded  hard  he  made  a  gag  and  tied 
it  into  the  mouth  of  the  man.  Then  he  ran  his  hands 
over  the  straps;  they  were  drawn  taut. 

"If  you  make  any  noise,"  he  warned  the  other,  "I'll 
come  back  to  find  out  why.  S'long." 


CHAPTER  VII 
"BETWIXT  AND  BETWEEN" 

EVERY  moment  was  bringing  on  the  dawn  more 
swiftly,  and  the  eyes  of  Andy  were  growing  more 
accustomed  to  the  gloom  in  the  house.  He  found  the 
door  of  the  girl's  room  at  once.  When  he  entered  he 
had  only  to  pause  a  moment  before  he  had  all  the  details 
clearly  in  mind.  Other  senses  than  that  of  sight  in- 
formed him  in  her  room.  There  was  in  the  gray  gloom 
a  touch  of  fragrance  such  as  blows  out  of  gardens  across 
a  road;  yet  here  the  air  was  perfectly  quiet  and  chill. 
The  dawn  advanced.  A  lesser  place  of  darkness  shone 
in  the  gloom  across  the  back  of  a  chair.  He  touched  it ; 
something  silken  and  as  light  as  the  air.  He  gathered  it 
into  his  hand,  and  it  was  reduced  to  a  small  thing  against 
his  palm. 

But  all  that  he  could  make  out  was  a  faint  touch  of 
color  agains.t  the  pillow — and  that  would  be  her  hair. 
Then  with  astonishing  clearness  he  saw  her  hand  resting 
against  her  breast.  Andy  stood  for  a  moment  with  his 
eyes  closed,  a  great  tenderness  falling  around  him.  The 
hush  kept  deepening,  and  the  sense  of  the  girl  drew  out 
to  him  as  if  a  light  were  brightening  about  her.  It  was 
a  holy  moment  to  Andy.  There  was  a  feeling  that  a 
third  presence  was  hovering  about  him,  seeing  and  Under- 
standing, and  that  presence  was  God,  he  knew. 

He  stepped  back  to  the  table  against  the  wall,  took  the 
chimney  from  the  lamp,  and  flicked  a  match  along  his 
trousers,  for  in  that  way  a  match  would  make  the  least 


"BETWIXT  AND  BETWEEN"  49 

noise.  Yet  to  the  hair-trigger  nerves  of  Andy  the  spurt 
and  flare  of  the  match  was  like  the  explosion  of  a  gun. 
He  lighted  the  lamp,  turned  down  the  wick,  and  replaced 
the  chimney.  Then  he  turned  as  though  some  one  had 
shouted  behind  him.  He  whirled  as  he  had  whirled  in 
the  hall,  crouching,  and  he  found  himself  looking  straight 
into  the  eyes  of  the  girl  as  she  sat  up  in  bed. 

Truly  he  did  not  see  her  face  at  first,  but  only  the  fear 
in  it,  parting  her  lips  and  widening  her  eyes.  The  glow 
of  the  lamp  caught  on  her  hair  and  turned  it  into  a  red- 
gold  river  of  light  that  splashed  on  white  shoulders,  and 
then  disappeared  behind  her.  A  moment  before  the 
room  had  been  nothing — a  part  of  the  grayness  of  the 
dawn — but  the  lighting  of  the  lamp  had  shut  out  the 
rest  of  the  world,  and  all  the  mind,  all  the  soul  of  Andy 
was  cupped  and  poured  against  that  tide  of  bronze  light 
and  against  the  face  of  the  girl.  She  did  not  speak ;  her 
only  movement  was  to  drag  up  the  coverlet  of  the  bed 
and  hold  it  against  the  base  of  her  throat. 

Andy  drew  off  his  hat  and  stood,  crushing  it  against 
his  breast.  His  hair,  wild  from  the  ride,  became  wilder 
as  a  morning  wind  drove  through  the  window  and  made 
the  flame  jump  in  the  throat  of  the  lamp.  Altogether 
he  was  a  savage  figure,  and  he  saw  the  fear  of  him  go 
into  the  face  of  the  girl  as  plainly  as  though  he  stood  in 
front  of  a  mirror.  And  it  hurt  Andy  like  a  bullet  tear- 
ing through  him. 

He  stepped  a  little  closer;  she  winced  against  the  back 
of  the  bed. 

Then  Andy  came  stock-still.  "Do  you  know  me  ?"  he 
asked. 

He  watched  her  as  she  strove  to  speak,  but  if  her  lips 
stirred  they  made  no  sound.  It  tortured  him  to  see  her 
terror,  and  yet  he  would  not  have  had  her  change.  This. 


50  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

crystal  pallor  or  a  flushed  joy — in  one  of  the  two  she 
was  most  beautiful. 

"You  saw  me  in  Martindale,"  he  continued.  "I  am 
the  blacksmith.  Do  you  remember?" 

She  nodded,  still  watching  him  with  those  haunted 
eyes. 

"I  saw  you  for  the  split  part  of  a  second,"  said  Andy, 
"and  you  stopped  my  heart.  I've  come  to  see  you  for 
two  minutes ;  I  swear  I  mean  you  no  harm.  Will  you  let 
me  have  those  two  minutes  for  talk?" 

Again  she  nodded.  But  he  could  see  that  the  terror 
was  being  tempered  a  little  in  her  face.  There  was  more 
plain  excitement  behind  her  eyes.  She  wras  beginning  to 
think,  to  wonder.  It  seemed  a  natural  thing  for  Andy 
to  go  forward  a  pace  closer  to  the  bed,  but,  lest  that 
should  alarm  her,  it  seemed  also  natural  for  him  to  drop 
upon  one  knee.  It  brought  the  muzzle  of  the  revolver 
jarringly  home  against  the  floor. 

The  girl  heard  that  sound  of  metal  and  it  shook  her; 
but  it  requires  a  very  vivid  imagination  to  fear  a  man 
upon  his  knees.  And  now  that  he  was  not  so  tall  she 
could  look  directly  into  his  face,  and  she  saw  that  he  was 
only  a  boy,  not  more  than  two  or  three  years  older  than 
herself.  For  the  first  time  she  remembered  the  sooty 
figure  which  had  stood  in  the  door  of  the  blacksmith 
shop.  The  white  face  against  the  tawny  smoke  of  the 
shop;  that  had  attracted  her  eyes  before.  It  was  the 
same  white  face  now,  but  subtly  changed.  A  force 
exuded  from  him ;  indeed,  he  seemed  neither  young  nor 
old.  Here  he  was  upon  his  knees.  And  one  wildly  ro- 
mantic thought  brushed  through  her  mind,  to  be  instantly 
dismissed. 

She  heard  him  speaking  in  a  voice  not  louder  than  a 
whisper,  rapid,  distinct;  and  there  was  a  quality  of  emo- 


"BETWIXT  AND  BETWEEN"  51 

tion  behind  it.  She  had  heard  that  same  quality  in  the 
voice  of  great  actors — men  who  knew  how  to  talk  from 
the  heart,  or  to  seem  to  talk  from  the  heart. 

"When  you  came  through  the  town  you  waked  me  up 
like  a  whiplash,"  he  was  saying.  "When  you  left  I  kept 
thinking  about  you.  Then  along  came  a  trouble.  I 
killed  a  man.  A  posse  started  after  me.  It's  on  my 
heels.  I  rode  like  the  wind,  for  I  knew  it  w7as  life  or 
death  if  they  caught  me,  but  I  had  to  see  you  again.  Do 
you  understand?" 

A  ghost  of  color  was  going  up  her  throat,  staining  her 
cheeks. 

"I  had  to  see  you,"  repeated.  "It's  my  last  chance. 
To-morro\v  they  may  get  me.  Two  hours  from  now 
they  may  have  me  salted  away  with  lead.  But  before  I 
kick  out  I  had  to  have  one  more  look  at  you.  So  I 
swung  out  of  my  road  and  came  straight  to  this  house. 
I  came  up  the  stairs.  I  went  into  a  room  down  the  hall 
and  made  a  man  tell  me  where  to  find  you." 

There  was  a  flash  in  the  eyes  of  the  girl  like  the  wink 
of  sun  on  a  bit  of  quartz  on  a  far-away  hillside,  but  it  cut 
into  the  speech  of  Andrew  Lanning.  "He  told  you 
where  to  find  me  ?"  she  asked  in  a  voice  no  louder  than 
the  swift,  low  voice  of  Andy.  But  what  a  world  of 
meaning!  What  a  rush  and  outpour  of  contempt  and 
scorn ! 

"He  had  a  gun  shoved  into  the  hollow  of  his  throat," 
said  Andy.  "He  had  to  tell — two  doors  down  the 
hall " 

"It  was  Charlie !"  said  the  girl  softly.  She  seemed  to 
forget  her  fear.  Her  head  raised  as  she  looked  at  Andy. 

It  made  him  flush  to  see  her  like  that.  "I  came  in 
here,"  said  Andy.  "I  lighted  the  lamp  to  look  at  you 


52  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

once.  I  didn't  mean  to  speak  to  you.  But  I  had  to  see 
you  before  I  go.  Do  you  believe  me?" 

She  brooded  on  him,  excited,  fearless  now.  And  she 
answered:  "The  other  man — the  one  you — why " 

"The  man  I  killed  doesn't  matter,"  said  Andy.  "Noth- 
ing matters  except  that  I've  got  this  minute  here  with 
you." 

"But  where  will  you  go?    How  will  you  escape?" 

"I'll  go  to  death,  I  guess/'  said  Andy  quietly.  "But 
I'll  have  a  grin  for  Satan  when  he  lets  me  in.  I've  beat 
'em,  even  if  they  catch  me." 

"Tell  me  your  name." 

"What's  my  name  ?  Nothing !  And  don't  waste  time 
on  things  like  that." 

The  coverlet  dropped  from  her  breast;  her  hand  was 
suspended  with  stiff  fingers.  There  had  been  a  sound 
as  of  some  one  stumbling  on  the  stairway,  the  unmis- 
takable slip  of  a  heel  and  the  recovery;  then  no  more 
sound.  Andy  was  on  his  feet.  She  saw  his  face  white, 
and  then  there  was  a  glitter  in  his  eyes,  and  she  knew 
that  the  danger  was  nothing  to  him.  But  Anne  Withero 
whipped  out  of  her  bed. 

"Did  you  hear?" 

"I  tied  and  gagged  him,"  said  Andy,  "but  he's  broken 
loose,  and  now  he's  raising  the  house  on  the  quiet." 

For  an  instant  the^  stood  listening,  staring  at  each 
other. 

"They — they're  coming  up  the  hall,"  whispered  the 
girl.  "Listen!" 

It  was  no  louder  than  a  whisper  from  without^the 
creak  of  a  board.  Andrew  Lanning  slipped  to  the  door 
and  turned  the  key  in  the  lock.  When  he  rejoined  her 
in  the  middle  of  the  room  he  gave  her  the  key. 

"Let  'em  in  if  you  want  to,"  he  said. 


"BETWIXT  AND  BETWEEN"  53 

But  the  girl  caught  his  arm,  whispering:  "Hide  there 
in  the  closet — among  my  clothes.  Quickly !  They — they 
won't  dare  come  in  here !" 

'There's  men  coming  who'll  dare  a  lot  more  than  that. 
But  they  don't  matter.  It's  as  well  here  as  the  next 
place." 

"You  mean  you're  not  going  to  try  to  get  away?" 

"Maybe  that.  Don't  you  see  that  I'm  happy,  Anne 
Withero?" 

"You're  not  afraid?" 

"I'm  plumb  froze  with  fear,  but  with  happiness,  too." 

Looking  past  him,  she  saw  the  knob  of  the  door  turn 
slightly,  slowly.  She  caught  her  breath. 

"There's  still  time.  You  can  get  out  that  window 
onto  the  top  of  the  roof  below,  then  a  drop  to  the  ground. 
But  hurry  before  they  think  to  guard  that  way !" 

"Confound  them  and  the  ways  they  guard !  One  min- 
ute more  of  you  and  me  and  God,  Anne." 

"You're  throwing  yourself  away !" 

"Stand  there  like  that.  With  your  head  high.  You're 
beautiful,  Anne.  And  this  is  worth  dyin'  for!" 

His  voice  shook  her.     It  was  as  if  she  were  sobbing. 

"Then  go  for  my  sake,"  she  pleaded. 

"I'll  go  for  one  thing." 

"Name  it!     Name  it!" 

She  began  to  wring  her  hands,  and  the  lamplight  caught 
at  her  head  and  she  was  covered  to  the  waist  with  the 
ripples  of  her  red-gold  hair.  Fear  had  whitened  her  lips, 
but  her  eyes  were  glorious. 

"When  you  know  they've  blown  me  to  the  four  winds, 
will  you  say  this  thing  to  yourself:  'He  was  no  good, 
but  he  loved  me.'  Will  you  say  that  ?" 

"I  will !  I  promise  you  I  will !"  She  was  dragging 
him  toward  the  window. 


54  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

"Anne !"  called  a  voice  suddenly  from  the  hall. 

Andy  threw  up  the  window,  and,  turning  toward  the 
door,  he  laughed  his  defiance  and  his  joy. 

"Hurry!"  she  was  demanding.  A  great  blow  fell  on 
the  door  of  her  room,  and  at  once  there  was  shouting 
in  the  hall :  "Pete,  run  outside  and  watch  the  window !" 

"Will  you  go?"  cried  the  girl  desperately. 

He  turned  toward  the  window.  He  turned  back  like 
a  flash  and  swept  her  close  to  him. 

"Do  you  fear  me  ?"  he  whispered. 

"No,"  said  the  girl. 

"Will  you  remember  me?" 

"Forever!" 

"God  bless  you/'  said  Andy  as  he  leaped  through  the 
window.  She  saw  him  take  the  slope  of  the  roof  with 
one  stride ;  she  heard  the  thud  of  his  feet  on  the  ground 
below.  Then  a  yell  from  without,  shrill  and  high  and 
sharp. 

When  the  door  fell  with  a  crash,  and  three  men  were 
flung  into  the  room,  Charles  Merchant  saw  her  standing 
in  her  nightgown  by  the  open  window.  Her  head  was 
flung  back  against  the  wall,  her  eyes  closed,  and  one  hand 
was  pressed  across  her  lips. 

"He's  out  the  window.  Down  around  the  other  way. 
Curse  him!"  cried  Charles  Merchant. 

The  stampede  swept  out  of  the  room.  Charles  was 
beside  her. 

She  knew  that  vaguely,  and  that  he  was  speaking,  but 
not  until  he  touched  her  bare  shoulder  did  she  hear  the 
words:  "Anne,  are  you  unhurt — has — for  Heaven's 
sake  speak,  Anne.  What's  happened  ?" 

She  reached  up  and  put  his  hand  away. 

"Charles,"  she  said,  "call  them  back.  Don't  let  them 
follow  him!" 


"BETWIXT  AND  BETWEEN"  55 

"Are  you  mad,  dear?"  he  asked.  "That  murder- 
ing  " 

He  found  a  tigress  in  front  of  him. 

"If  they  hurt  a  hair  of  his  head,  Charlie,  I'm  through 
with  you.  I'll  swear  that !" 

It  stunned  Charles  Merchant.  And  then  he  went 
stumbling  from  the  room. 

His  cow-punchers  were  out  from  the  bunk  house 
already;  the  guests  and  his  father  were  saddling  or  in 
the  saddle. 

"Come  back !"  shouted  Charles  Merchant.  "Don't  fol- 
low him.  Come  back !  No  guns.  He's  done  no  harm." 

Two  men  came  around  the  corner  of  the  house,  drag- 
ging a  limp  figure  between  them. 

"Is  this  no  harm?"  they  asked.  "Look  at  Pete,  and 
then  talk." 

They  lowered  the  tall,  limp  figure  of  the  man  in  paja- 
mas to  the  ground ;  his  face  was  a  crimson  smear. 

"Is  he  dead  ?"  asked  Charles  Merchant. 

"No  move  out  of  him,"  they  answered. 

Other  people,  most  of  them  on  horseback,  were  pour- 
ing back  to  learn  the  meaning  of  the  strange  call  from 
Charles  Merchant. 

"I  can't  tell  you  what  I  mean,"  he  was  saying  in  ex- 
planation. "But  you,  dad,  I'll  be  able  to  tell  you.  All 
I  can  say  is  that  he  mustn't  be  followed — unless  Pete 
here " 

The  eyes  of  Pete  opportunely  opened.  He  looked 
hazily  about  him. 

"Is  he  gone?"  asked  Pete. 

"Yes." 

"Thank  the  Lord !" 

"Did  you  see  him?     What's  he  like?" 

"About  seven  feet  tall.     I  saw  him  jump  off  the  roof 


56  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

of  the  house.  I  was  right  under  him.  Tried  to  get  my 
gun  on  him  while  he  was  sprawling  after  his  jump,  but 
he  came  up  like  a  wild  cat  and  went  straight  at  me. 
Had  his  fist  in  my  face  before  I  could  get  my  finger  on 
the  trigger.  And  then  the  earth  came  up  and  slapped 
me  in  the  face." 

"There  he  goes !"  cried  some  one. 

The  sky  was  now  of  a  brightness  not  far  from  day, 
and,  turning  east,  in  the  direction  pointed  out,  Charles 
Merchant  saw  a  horseman  ride  over  a  hilltop,  a  black 
form  against  the  coloring  horizon.  He  was  moving 
leisurely,  keeping  his  horse  at  the  cattle  pony's  lope. 
Presently  he  dipped  away  out  of  sight. 

John  Merchant  dropped  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of 
his  son.  He  was  a  stern  man,  was  John  Merchant,  and 
his  face  was  not  pleasant  as  Charles  turned  and  looked 
up  at  it;  but  if  John  Merchant  was  stern,  the  face  of  his 
son  was  the  face  of  a  lost  soul  in  torment. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  the  father. 

"Heaven  knows!     Not  I!" 

"Here  are  more  people!  What's  this?  A  night  of 
surprise  parties  ?" 

Six  riders  came  through  the  trees,  rushing  their  horses, 
and  John  Merchant  saw  Bill  Dozier's  well-known,  lanky 
form  in  the  lead.  He  brought  his  horse  from  a  dead  run 
to  a  halt  in  the  space  of  a  single  jump  and  a  slide.  The 
next  moment  he  was  demanding  fresh  mounts. 

"Can  you  give  'em  to  me,  Merchant?  But  what's  all 
this?" 

"You  make  your  little  talk,"  said  Merchant,  "and  then 
I'll  make  mine." 

"I'm  after  Andy  Lanning.  He's  left  a  gent  more  dead 
than  alive  back  in  Martindale,  and  I  want  him.  Can 


"BETWIXT  AND  BETWEEN"  57 

you  give  me  fresh  horses  for  me  and  my  boys,  Mer- 
chant?" 

"But  the  man  wasn't  dead?  He  wasn't  dead?"  cried 
the  voice  of  a  girl.  The  group  opened ;  Bill  Dozier  found 
himself  facing  a  bright-haired  girl  wrapped  to  the  throat 
in  a  long  coat,  with  slippers  on  her  feet. 

"Not  dead  and  not  alive,"  he  answered.  "Just  be- 
twixt and  between." 

"Thank  God !"  whispered  the  girl.     "Thank  God !" 

There  was  only  one  man  in  the  group  who  should  not 
have  heard  that  wliispered  phrase,  and  that  man  was 
Charles  Merchant.  He  was  standing  at  her  side. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
BILL'S  BARGAIN 

IT  took  less  than  five  minutes  for  the  deputy  sheriff  to 
mount  his  men;  he  himself  had  the  pick  of  the  corral, 
a  dusty  roan,  and,  as  he  drew  the  cinch  taut,  he  turned  to 
find  Charles  Merchant  at  his  side. 

"Bill,"  said  the  young  fellow,  "what  sort  of  a  man  is 
this  Lanning?" 

"He's  been  a  covered  card,  partner,"  said  Bill  Dozier. 
Not  since  Charles  Merchant  went  away  to  school  had  he 
been  able  to  remember  the  first  name  of  Dozier,  and  Bill 
Dozier's  lips  were  twitching  behind  his  faded  mustache. 
"He's  been  a  covered  card  that  seemed  pretty  good. 
Now  he's  in  the  game,  and  he  looks  like  the  rest  of  the 
Lannings — a  good  lump  of  daring  and  defiance.  Why 
d'youask?" 

"Are  you  keen  to  get  him,  Bill?"  continued  Charlie 
Merchant  eagerly. 

"I  could  stand  it.     Again,  why?" 

" You'd  like  a  little  gun  play  with  that  fellow?" 

"I  wouldn't  complain  none." 

"Ah  ?  One  more  thing.  Could  you  use  a  bit  of  ready 
cash?" 

"I  ain't  pressed,"  said  Bill  Dozier,  working  away  be- 
hind the  eyes  of  the  younger  man  with  his  own ,  ferret 
glance.  "On  the  other  hand,  I  ain't  of  a  savin'  nature." 

Then  he  added :  "Get  it  out,  Charlie.  I  think  I  fol- 
low your  drift.  And  you  can  go  as  far  as  you  like." 
He  put  out  his  jaw  in  an  ugly  way  as  he  said  it. 


BILL'S  BARGAIN  59 

"It  would  be  worth  a  lot  to  me  to  have  this  cur  done 
for,  Bill.  You  understand?" 

"My  time's  short.     Talk  terms,  Charlie." 

"A  thousand." 

"The  price  of  a  fair  hoss." 

"Two  thousand,  old  man." 

"Hoss  and  trimmin's." 

"Three  thousand." 

"Charlie,  you  seem  to  forget  that  we're  talkin'  about 
a  man  and  a  gun." 

"Bill,  it's  worth  five  thousand  to  me." 

"That's  turkey.     Let  me  have  your  hand." 

They  shook  hands. 

"And  if  you  kill  the  horses,"  said  Charles  Merchant, 
"you  won't  hurt  my  feelings.  But  get  him !" 

"I've  got  nothing  much  on  him,"  said  Bill  Dozier, 
"but  some  fools  resist  arrest." 

He  smiled  in  a  manner  that  made  the  other  shudder. 
And  a  moment  later  the  deputy  led  his  men  out  on  the 
trail. 

They  were  a  weary  lot  by  this  time,  but  they  had  be- 
neath the  belt  several  shots  of  the  Merchant  whisky  which 
Charles  had  distributed.  And  they  had  that  still  greater 
stimulus — fresh  horses  running  smooth  and  strong  be- 
neath them.  Another  thing  had  changed.  They  saw 
their  leader,  Bill  Dozier,  working  at  his  revolver  and  his 
rifle  as  he  rode,  looking  to  the  charges,  trying  the  pres- 
sure of  the  triggers,  getting  the  balance  of  the  weapons 
with  a  peculiar  anxiety,  and  they  knew,  without  a  word 
being  spoken,  that  there  was  small  chance  of  that  trail 
ending  at  anything  short  of  a  red  mark  in  the  dust. 

It  made  some  of  them  shrug  their  shoulders,  but  here 
again  it  was  proved  that  Bill  Dozier  knew  the  men  of 
Martindale,  and  had  picked  his  posse  well.  They  were 


6o  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

the  common,  hard-working  variety  of  cow-puncher,  and 
presently  the  word  went  among  them  from  the  man  rid- 
ing nearest  to  Bill  that  if  young  Lanning  were  taken  it 
would  be  worth  a  hundred  dollars  to  each  of  them.  Two 
months'  pay  for  two  days'  work.  That  was  fair  enough. 
They  also  began  to  look  to  their  guns.  It  was  not  that 
a  single  one  of  them  could  have  been  bought  for  a  man- 
killing  at  that  or  any  other  price,  perhaps,  but  this  was 
simply  a  bonus  to  carry  them  along  toward  what  they 
considered  an  honest  duty. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  a  different  crew  that  rode  over 
the  hills  away  from  the  Merchant  place.  There  was 
even  something  different  in  their  riding.  They  had  be- 
gun for  the  sake  of  the  excitement.  Now  they  were 
working  carefully,  riding  with  less  abandon,  jockeying 
their  horses,  for  each  man  was  laboring  to  be  in  on  the  kill. 

They  had  against  them  a  good  horse  and  a  stanch 
horseman.  Never  had  the  pinto  dodged  his  share  of 
honest  running,  and  this  day  was  no  exception.  He  gave 
himself  whole-heartedly  to  his  task,  and  he  stretched  the 
legs  of  the  ponies  behind  him.  Yet  he  had  a  great  handi- 
cap. He  was  tough,  but  the  ranch  horses  of  John  Mer- 
chant were  of  the  Morgan  breed,  vicious,  a  good  many 
of  them,  but  solid  and  wiry  and  fast  enough  for  any 
purpose — such  as  clinging  to  a  long  trail  over  hill  and 
valley. 

Above  all,  they  came  out  from  a  night  of  rest.  Their 
lungs  were  clean  of  dust.  Their  legs  were  full  of  run- 
ning. And  the  pinto,  for  all  his  courage,  could  not  meet 
that  handicap  and  beat  it. 

That  truth  slowly  sank  in  upon  the  mind  of  the  fugi- 
tive as  he  put  the  game  little  cattle  pony  into  his  best 
stride.  He  tried  pinto  in  the  level  going.  He  tried  him 
in  the  rough.  And  in  both  conditions  the  posse  gained 


BILL'S  BARGAIN  61 

slowly  and  steadily,  until  it  became  apparent  to  Andrew 
Lanning  that  the  deputy  held  him  in  the  hollow  of  his 
hand,  and  in  half  an  hour  of  stiff  galloping  could  run  his 
quarry  into  the  ground  whenever  he  chose. 

Andy  turned  in  the  saddle  and  grinned  back  at  the  fol- 
lowers. He  could  distinguish  Bill  Dozier  most  distinctly. 
The  broad  brim  of  Bill's  hat  was  blown  up  stiffly.  A.nd 
the  sun  glinted  now  and  again  on  those  melancholy  mus- 
taches of  his.  Andy  was  puzzled.  Bill  had  horses  which 
could  outrun  the  fugitive,  and  why  did  he  not  use  them  ? 

Almost  at  once  Andy  received  his  answer. 

The  deputy  sheriff  sent  his  horse  into  a  hard  run,  and 
then  brought  him  suddenly  to  a  standstill.  Looking  back, 
Andy  saw  a  rifle  pitch  to  the  shoulder  of  the  deputy.  It 
was  a  flashing  line  of  light  which  focused  suddenly  in  a 
single,  glinting  dot.  That  instant  something  hummed 
evilly  beside  the  ear  of  Andy.  A  moment  later  the  report 
came  barking  and  echoing  in  his  ear  with  the  little  metal- 
lic ring  in  it  which  tells  of  the  shiver  of  a  gun  barrel. 

That  was  the  beginning  of  a  running  fusillade.  Tech- 
nically these  were  shots  fired  to  warn  the  fugitive  that 
he  was  wanted  by  the  law,  and  to  tell  him  that  if  he  did 
not  halt  he  would  be  shot  at  to  be  killed.  But  the  deputy 
did  not  waste  warnings.  He  began  to  shoot  to  kill. 
And  so  did  the  rest  of  the  posse.  They  saw  the  deputy's 
plan  at  once,  and  then  grinned  at  it.  If  they  rode  down 
in  a  mob  the  boy  would  no  doubt  surrender.  But  if  they 
goaded  him  in  this  manner  from  a  distance  he  would 
probably  attempt  to  return  the  fire.  And  if  he  fired  one 
shot  in  reply,  unwritten  law  and  strong  public  opinion 
would  be  on  the  side  of  Bill  Dozier  in  killing  this  crimi- 
nal without  quarter.  In  a  word,  the  whisky  and  the  lit- 
tle promise  of  money  were  each  taking  effect  on  the  posse. 

They  spurted  ahead  in  pairs,  halted,  and  delivered  their 


62  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

fire;  then  the  next  pair  spurted  ahead  and  fired.  Every 
moment  or  so  two  bullets  winged  through  the  air  near 
and  nearer  Andy.  It  was  really  a  wonder  that  he  was 
not  cleanly  drilled  by  a  bullet  long  before  that  fusillade 
had  continued  for  ten  minutes.  But  it  is  no  easy  thing 
^to  hit  a  man  on  a  galloping  horse  when  one  sits  on  the 
back  of  another  horse,  and  that  horse  heaving  from  a 
hard  run.  Moreover,  Andy  watched,  and  when  the  pairs 
halted  he  made  the  pinto  weave. 

At  the  first  bullet  he  felt  his  heart  come  into  his  throat. 
At  the  second  he  merely  raised  his  head.  At  the  next 
he  smiled,  and  thereafter  he  greeted  each  volley  with  a 
yell  and  with  a  wave  of  his  hat.  It  was  like  dancing, 
but  greater  fun.  The  cold,  still  terror  was  in  his  heart 
every  moment,  but  yet  he  felt  like  laughing,  and  when 
the  posse  heard  him  their  own  hearts  went  cold. 

It  disturbed  their  aim.  They  began  to  snarl  at  each 
other,  and  they  also  pressed  their  horses  close  and  closer 
before  they  even  attempted  to  fire. 

And  the  result  was  that  Andy,  waving  his  hat,  felt  it 
twitched  sharply  in  his  hand,  and  then  he  saw  a  neat  little 
hole  clipped  out  of  the  very  edge  of  the  brim.  It  was  a 
pretty  trick  to  see,  until  Andy  remembered  that  the  thing 
which  had  nicked  that  hole  would  also  cut  its  way  through 
him,  body  and  bone.  He  leaned  over  the  saddle  and 
spurred  the  pinto  into  his  racing  gait. 

"I  nicked  him!"  yelled  the  deputy.  "Come  on,  boys! 
Close  in!" 

But  within  five  minutes  of  racing,  Andy  drew  pinto  to 
a  sudden  halt  and  raised  his  rifle.  The  posse  laughed. 
They  had  been  shooting  for  some  time,  and  always  for  a 
distance  even  less  than  Andy's ;  yet  not  one  of  their  bul- 
lets had  gone  home.  So  they  waved  their  hats  recklessly 
and  continued  to  ride  to  be  in  at  the  death.  And  every 


BILL'S  BARGAIN  63 

one  knew  that  the  end  of  the  trail  was  not  far  off  when 
the  fugitive  had  once  begun  to  turn  at  bay. 

Andy  knew  it  as  well  as  the  rest,  and  his  hand  shook 
like  a  nervous  girl's,  while  the  rifle  barrel  tilted  up  and 
up,  the  blue  barrel  shimmering  wickedly.  In  a  frenzy  of 
eagerness  he  tried  to  line  up  the  sights.  It  was  vain. 
The  circle  through  which  he  squinted  wabbled  crazily. 
He  saw  two  of  the  pursuers  spurt  ahead,  take  their  posts, 
raise  their  rifles  for  a  fire  which  would  at  least  disturb 
his.  For  the  first  time  they  had  a  stationary  target. 

And  then,  by  chance,  the  circle  of  Andy's  sight  em- 
braced the  body  of  a  horseman.  Instantly  the  left  arm, 
stretching  out  to  support  his  rifle,  became  a  rock;  the 
forefinger  of  his  right  hand  was  as  steady  as  the  trigger 
it  pressed.  It  was  like  shooting  at  a  target.  He  found 
himself  breathing  easily. 

It  was  very  strange.  Find  a  man  with  his  sights? 
He  could  follow  his  target  as  though  a  magnetic  power 
attracted  his  rifle.  The  weapon  seemed  to  have  a  voli- 
tion of  its  own.  It  drifted  along  with  the  canter  of  Bill 
Dozier.  With  incredible  precision  the  little  finger  of  iron 
inside  the  circle  dwelt  in  turn  on  the  hat  of  Bill  Dozier, 
on  his  sandy  mustaches,  on  his  fluttering  shirt.  And 
Andy  knew  that  he  had  the  life  of  a  man  under  the  com- 
mand of  his  forefinger. 

And  why  not?  He  had  killed  one.  Why  not  a  hun- 
dred? 

The  punishment  would  be  no  greater.  And  to  tempt 
him  there  was  this  new  mystery,  this  knowledge  that  he 
could  not  miss.  It  had  been  vaguely  present  in  his  mind 
when  he  faced  the  crowd  at  Martindale,  he  remembered 
now.  And  the  same  merciless  coldness  had  been  in  his 
hand  when  he  pressed  his  gun  into  the  throat  of  Charles 
Merchant. 


64  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

He  turned  his  eyes  and  looked  down  the  guns  of  the 
two  men  who  had  halted.  Then,  hardly  looking  at  his 
target,  he  snapped  his  rifle  back  to  his  shoulder  and  fired. 
He  saw  Bill  Dozier  throw  up  his  hands,  saw  his  head 
rock  stupidly  back  and  forth,  and  then  the  long  figure 
toppled  to  one  side.  One  of  the  posse  rushed  alongside 
to  catch  his  leader,  but  he  missed,  and  Bill,  slumping  to 
the  ground,  was  trampled  underfoot. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   BIRTH   OF  A  DESPERADO 

AT  the  same  time  the  rifles  of  the  two  men  of  the 
posse  rang,  but  they  must  have  seen  the  fall  of  their 
leader,  for  the  shots  went  wild,  and  Andy  Lanning  took 
off  his  hat  and  waved  to  them.  But  he  did  not  flee  again. 
He  sat  in  his  saddle  with  the  long  rifle  balanced  across 
the  pommel  while  two  thoughts  went  through  his  mind. 
One  was  to  stay  there  and  watch.  The  other  was  to 
slip  the  rifle  back  into  the  holster  and  with  drawn  revolver 
charge  the  five  remaining  members  of  the  posse.  These 
were  now  gathering  hastily  about  Bill  Dozier.  But  Andy 
knew  their  concern  was  vain.  He  knew  where  that  bul- 
let had  driven  home,  and  Bill  Dozier  would  never  ride 
again. 

One  by  one  he  picked  up  those  five  figures  with  his 
eyes,  fighting  temptation.  He  knew  that  he  could  not 
miss  if  he  fired  again.  In  five  shots  he  knew  that  he 
could  drop  as  many  men,  and  within  him  there  was  a 
perfect  consciousness  that  they  would  not  hit  him  when 
they  returned  the  fire. 

He  was  not  filled  with  exulting  courage.  He  was 
cold  with  fear.  But  it  was  the  sort  of  fear  which  makes 
a  man  want  to  fling  himself  from  a  great  height.  But, 
sitting  there  calmly  in  the  saddle,  he  saw  a  strange  thing 
—the  five  men  raising  their  dead  leader  and  turning  back 
toward  the  direction  from  which  they  had  come.  Not 
once  did  they  look  toward  the  form  of  Andy  Lanning. 
They  knew  what  he  could  not  know,  that  the  gate  of  the 


66  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

law  had  been  open  to  this  man  as  a  retreat,  but  the  bul- 
let which  struck  down  Bill  Dozier  had  closed  the  gate  and 
thrust  him  out  from  mercy.  He  was  an  outlaw,  a  leper 
now.  Any  one  who  shared  his  society  from  this  mo- 
ment on  would  fall  under  the  heavy  hand  of  the  law. 

But  as  for  running  him  into  the  ground,  they  had  lost 
their  appetite  for  such  fighting.  They  had  kept  up  a 
long  running  fight  and  gained  nothing;  but  a  single  shot 
from  the  fugitive  had  produced  this  result.  They  turned 
now  in  silence  and  went  back,  very  much  as  dogs  turn 
and  tuck  their  tails  between  their  legs  when  the  wolf, 
which  they  have  chased  away  from  the  precincts  of  the 
ranch  house,  feels  himself  once  more  safe  from  the  hand 
of  man  and  whirls  with  a  flash  of  teeth.  The  sun  gleamed 
on  the  barrel  of  Andy  Lanning's  rifle,  and  these  men 
rode  back  in  silence,  feeling  that  they  had  witnessed  one 
of  those  prodigies  which  were  becoming  fewer  and  fewer 
and  farther  and  farther  between  around  Martindale — 
the  birth  of  a  desperado. 

Andrew  watched  them  skulking  off  with  the  body  of 
Bill  Dozier  held  upright  by  a  man  on  either  side  of  the 
horse.  He  watched  them  draw  off  across  the  hills,  still 
with  that  nervous,  almost  irresistible  impulse  to  raise  one 
wild,  long  cry  and  spur  after  them,  shooting  swift  and 
straight  over  the  head  of  the  pinto.  But  he  did  not 
move,  and  now  they  dropped  out  of  sight.  And  then, 
looking  about  him,  Andrew  Lanning  felt  how  vast  were 
those  hills,  how  wide  they  stretched,  and  how  small  he 
stood  among  them.  He  was  alone.  He  was  utterly 
alone.  He  almost  wished  that  Bill  Dozier  were  back  at 
the  head  of  the  posse  hunting  for  his  life.  At  least,  that 
had  been  a  sort  of  savage  company.  But  now  there  was 
nothing  but  the  hills  and  a  sky  growing  pale  with  heat 
and  the  patches  of  olive-gray  sagebrush  in  the  distance. 


THE  BIRTH  OF  A  DESPERADO  67 

The  wind  picked  up  a  cloud  of  dust,  molded  it  into  the 
strangely  lifelike  figure  of  a  horseman,  and  rushed  that 
form  across  the  valley  at  his  left ;  it  melted  into  thin  air, 
as  many  a  man  had  melted  to  nothingness  in  the  moun- 
tain desert. 

A  great  melancholy  dropped  upon  Andy.  He  felt  a 
childish  weakness;  dropping  his  elbows  upon  the  pom- 
mel of  the  saddk,  he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  In 
that  moment  he  needed  desperately  something  to  which 
he  could  appeal  for  comfort.  In  that  moment  a  child  of 
ten  coming  upon  him  could  have  "stuck  up'*  Andy  with 
a  wooden  imitation  of  a  gun  and  driven  him  without 
resistance  back  to  Martindale. 

The  weakness  passed  slowly. 

He  dismounted  and  looked  to  the  pinto,  for  the  pinto 
had  worked  hard,  and  now  he  stood  with  his  forelegs 
somewhat  apart  and  braced,  and  his  head  hung  low. 
Every  muscle  of  his  body  was  relaxed,  and,  like  a  good 
cattle  pony,  not  knowing  what  strange  and  violent  exer- 
tion might  be  demanded  of  him  the  next  moment  he  made 
the  most  of  this  instant  of  rest.  And  now  the  cinches 
were  loosened ;  the  sweat  was  rubbed  carefully  from  him. 
Since  he  stood  sagging  to  the  right  side  and  pointing  the 
toe  of  his  off  hind  foot  Andy  anxiously  lifted  that  hoof 
to  make  sure  that  his  horse  had  not  picked  up  a  stone. 
The  pinto  rewarded  him  by  coming  to  life  and  raising 
his  head  just  long  enough  to  gauge  and  deliver  a  kick  at 
Andy's  head.  It  missed  its  mark  by  the  proverbial 
breadth  of  a  hair,  and  the  pinto  dropped  his  head  again 
with  a  grunt  of  disappointment. 

It  made  his  rider  grin  with  relief,  that  vicious  little 
demonstration.  When  the  cinches  were  drawn  up  again, 
a  moment  later,  the  pinto  distended  his  lungs  to  make  a 
slack  after  the  girths  were  fastened,  but  Andy  put  his 


68  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

knee  into  the  refractory  ribs  and  crushed  them  to  the 
breaking  point.  So  the  pinto  with  a  sigh  expelled  his 
breath  and  allowed  the  cinching  to  be  properly  finished. 
The  tender  care  had  for  a  moment  given  him  a  thought 
that  this  man  was  no  master;  but  the  knee  in  the  ribs 
removed  all  doubts.  And  from  that  moment  the  pinto 
was  ready  to  die  for  Andy. 

The  rider,  after  this  little  exhibition  of  temper,  stepped 
back  and  looked  his  horse  over  more  carefully.  The 
pinto  had  many  good  points.  He  had  ample  girth  of 
chest  at  the  cinches,  where  lung  capacity  is  best  measured. 
He  had  rather  short  forelegs,  which  promised  weight- 
carrying  power  and  some  endurance,  and  he  had  a  fine 
pair  of  sloping  shoulders.  But  his  belly  was  a  trifle  fine 
drawn,  and,  though  he  might  stand  a  drive  of  a  day  or 
two  admirably,  it  was  very  doubtful  if  he  could  endure 
a  long  siege  of  such  life  as  Andy  was  apt  to  live.  Also, 
the  croup  of  the  pinto  sloped  down  too  much,  and  he  had 
a  short  neck.  Andy  knew  perfectly  well  that  no  horse 
with  a  short  neck  can  run  fast  for  any  distance.  He 
had  chosen  the  pinto  for  endurance,  and  endurance  he 
undoubtedly  had ;  but  there  was  no  question  that  he  must 
have  a  horse  superior  in  every  respect — a  horse  capable 
of  running  his  distance  and  also  able  to  spurt  like  a 
trained  racer  for  short  distances.  For  many  a  time  in 
his  life  he  would  need  a  horse  which  could  put  him  out 
of  short-shooting  distance,  and  do  it  quickly.  And  many 
a  time  he  would  face  a  long  grind  across  mountain  and 
desert,  and  both  together. 

There  were  no  illusions  in  the  mind  of  Andrew  >Lan- 
ning  about  what  lay  before  him.  Uncle  Jasper  had  told 
him  too  many  tales  of  his  own  experiences  on  the  trail 
in  enemy  country. 

"There's  three  things/'  the  old  man  had  often  said, 


THE  BIRTH  OF  A  DESPERADO  69 

"that  a  man  needs  when  he's  in  trouble:  a  gun  that's 
smooth  as  silk,  a  hoss  full  of  running,  and  a  friend." 

For  the  gun  Andy  had  his  Colt  in  the  holster,  and  he 
knew  it  like  his  own  mind.  There  were  newer  models 
and  trickier  weapons,  but  none  which  worked  so  smoothly 
under  the  touch  of  Andy.  Thinking  of  this,  he  pro- 
duced it  from  the  holster  with  a  flick  of  his  fingers.  The 
sight  had  been  filed  away.  When  he  was  a  boy  in  short 
trousers  he  had  learned  from  Uncle  Jasper  the  two  main 
articles  of  a  gun  fighter's  creed — that  a  revolver  must 
be  fired  by  pointing,  not  sighting,  and  that  there  must 
be  nothing  about  it  liable  to  hang  in  the  holster  to  delay 
the  draw.  The  great  idea  was  to  get  the  gun  on  your 
man  with  lightning  speed,  and  then  fire  from  the  hip  with 
merely  a  sense  of  direction  to  guide  the  bullet.  Just  as 
one  raises  his  hand  and  points  the  finger.  As  a  rule, 
one  will  point  with  astonishing  closeness  to  the  object, 
but  it  needs  a  wrist  of  iron,  and  many  a  long  year  of 
practice,  to  do  that  accurate  pointing  when  there  is  a 
.45  gun  in  the  hand.  Uncle  Jasper  had  given  him  that 
training,  and  he  blessed  the  old  man  for  it  now. 

He  had  a  gun,  therefore,  and  one  necessity  was  his. 
Sorely  he  needed  a  horse  of  quality  as  few  men  needed 
one.  And  he  needed  still  more  a  friend,  a  haven  in  time 
of  crisis,  an  adviser  in  difficulties.  And  though  Andy 
knew  that  it  was  death  to  go  among  men,  he  knew  also 
that  it  was  death  to  do  without  these  two  things. 

He  believed  that  there  was  one  chance  left  to  him,  and 
that  was  to  outdistance  the  news  of  the  two  killings  by 
riding  straight  north.  There  he  would  stop  at  the  first 
town,  in  some  manner  fill  his  pockets  with  money,  and 
in  some  manner  find  both  horse  and  friend. 

Andrew  Lanning  was  both  simple  and  credulous;  but 
it  must  be  remembered  that  he  had  led  a  sheltered  life, 


70  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

comparatively  speaking ;  he  had  been  brought  up  between 
a  blacksmith  shop  on  the  one  hand  and  Uncle  Jasper  on 
the  other,  and  the  gaps  in  his  knowledge  of  men  were 
many  and  huge.  The  prime  necessity  now  was  speed 
to  the  northward.  So  Andy  flung  himself  into  the  sad- 
dle and  drove  his  horse  to  north  at  the  jogging,  rocking 
lope  of  the  cattle  pony. 

He  was  in  a  shallow  basin  which  luckily  pointed  in 
the  right  direction  for  him.  The  hills  sloped  down  to  it 
from  either  side  in  long  fingers,  with  narrow  gullies 
between,  but  as  Andy  passed  the  first  of  these  pointing 
fingers  a  new  thought  came  to  him. 

It  might  be — why  not  ? — that  the  posse  had  made  only 
a  pretense  of  withdrawing  at  once  with  the  body  of  the 
dead  man.  No  doubt  Bill  Dozier  had  taken  five  hand- 
picked  fellows  from  the  crowd,  and  it  seemed  strange, 
indeed,  if  they  would  give  up  the  battle  when  the  odds 
were  still  five  to  one  in  their  favor.  Perhaps,  then,  they 
had  only  waited  until  they  were  out  of  sight  and  had 
then  circled  swiftly  around,  leaving  one  man  with  the 
body.  They  might  be  waiting  now  at  the  mouth  of  any 
of  these  gullies. 

No  sooner  had  the  thought  come  to  Andy  than  he 
whitened.  The  pinto  had  been  worked  hard  that  morn- 
ing and  all  the  night  before,  but  now  Andy  sent  the  spurs 
home  without  mercy  as  he  shot  up  the  basin  at  full  speed. 
Each  spur  of  hills  pointed  at  him  accusingly.  Each 
shadowy  canon  yawned  like  a  door  of  danger  as  he 
passed,  and  he  went  with  his  revolver  drawn,  ready  for 
a  snap  shot  and  a  drop  behind  the  far  side  of  his  horse. 

For  half  an  hour  he  rode  in  this  fashion  with  his  heart 
beating  at  his  teeth.  And  each  canon  as  he  passed  was 
empty,  and  each  had  some  shrub,  like  a  crouching  man, 
to  startle  him  and  upraise  the  revolver.  At  length,  with 


THE  BIRTH  OF  A  DESPERADO  71 

the  pinto  wheezing  from  this  new  effort,  he  drew  back 
to  an  easier  gait.  But  still  he  had  a  companion  cease- 
lessly following  like  the  shadow  of  the  horse  he  rode. 
It  was  fear,  and  it  would  never  leave  him. 


CHAPTER  X 
ANDY'S  DEATH  WARRANT 

IN  her  room,  Anne  Withero  was  reading.  She  had 
always  disliked  that  room,  for  her  tastes  were  by  no 
means  idle  standards  but  tyrants,  and  the  flowered  wall 
paper  of  that  old-fashioned  place  and  the  vivid  red  of 
the  carpet  were  a  torture  to  her  eyes.  The  room  had  not 
changed  overnight,  yet  now  she  preferred  it  to  any  other 
place  in  the  house.  And  there  was  only  one  possible 
explanation.  Once,  twice,  and  again  she  got  up  from 
her  chair  to  examine  the  sill  of  her  window.  On  it  there 
was  a  dotted  scratch  in  the  paint,  such  a  scar  as  the  sharp 
rowel  of  a  spur  might  make.  And  on  the  slant  roof  of 
the  veranda  below  her  there  was  a  broken  shingle  on 
which  she  could  make  out — or  perhaps  this  was  imagina- 
tion— the  print  of  a  heel. 

At  any  rate,  the  window  sill  fascinated  her. 

After  that  forced  and  early  rising  the  rest  of  the  house 
had  remained  awake,  but  Anne  Withero  was  gifted  with 
an  exceptionally  strong  set  of  nerves.  She  had  gone 
back  to  bed  and  fallen  promptly  into  a  pleasant  sleep. 
And  when  she  wakened  all  that  happened  in  the  night 
was  filmed  over  and  had  become  dreamlike. 

No  one  disturbed  her  rest ;  but  when  she  went  down  to 
a  late  breakfast  she  found  Charles  Merchant  lingering  in 
the  room.  He  had  questioned  her  closely,  and  after  a 
moment  of  thought  she  told  him  exactly  what  had  hap- 
pened, because  she  was  perfectly  aware  that  he  would 
not  believe  a  word  of  it.  And  she  was  right.  He  had 


ANDY'S  DEATH  WARRANT  73 

sat  opposite  her,  drumming  his  fingers  without  noise  on 
the  table,  with  a  smile  now  and  then  which  might  be  plain 
amusement,  but  which  was  tinged,  she  thought,  with  in- 
solence. 

Yet  he  seemed  oddly  undisturbed.  She  had  expected 
some  jealous  outburst,  some  keen  questioning  of  the  mo- 
tives which  had  made  her  beg  them  not  to  pursue  this 
man.  But  Charles  Merchant  was  only  interested  in  what 
the  fellow  had  said  and  done  when  he  talked  with  her. 
"He  was  just  like  a  man  out  of  a  book/'  said  the  girl  in 
conclusion,  "and  I'll  wager  that  he's  been  raised  on  ro- 
mances. He  had  the  face  for  it,  you  know — and  the 
wild  look !" 

"A  blacksmith — in  Martindale — raised  on  romances?" 
Charles  had  said  as  he  fingered  his  throat,  which  was 
patched  with  black  and  blue. 

"A  blacksmith — in  Martindale,"  she  had  repeated 
slowly.  And  it  brought  a  new  view  of  the  affair  home 
to  her.  It  had  all  seemed  quite  clear  before.  This  ro- 
mantic fellow  caught  a  glimpse  of  her,  thought  he  was 
in  love  with  a  face,  got  into  a  scrape,  and  like  a  wild  boy 
risked  his  life  to  see  that  face  again  while  he  was  being 
pursued.  Besides,  now  that  they  knew  from  Bill  Dozier 
that  the  victim  in  Martindale  had  been  only  injured,  and 
not  actually  killed,  the  whole  matter  became  rather  a 
farce.  It  would  be  an  amusing  tale.  But  now,  as 
Charles  Merchant  repeated  the  words,  "blacksmith" — 
"Martindale,"  the  new  idea  shocked  her,  the  new  idea  of 
Andrew  Lanning,  for  Charles  had  told  her  the  name. 

The  new  thought  stayed  with  her  when  she  went  back 
to  her  room  after  breakfast,  ostensibly  to  read,  but  really 
to  think;  for  Anne  Withero  was  still  young  enough  to 
love  to  turn  adventures  over  her  tongue  like  a  wine- 
taster.  Remembering  Andrew  Lanning,  she  got  past  the 


74  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

white  face  and  the  brilliant  black  eyes ;  she  felt,  looking 
back,  that  he  had  shown  a  restraint  which  was  something 
more  than  boyish.  When  he  took  her  in  his  arms  just 
before  he  fled  he  had  not  kissed  her,  though,  for  that 
matter,  she  had  been  perfectly  ready  to  let  him  do  it. 

That  moment  kept  recurring  to  her — the  beating  on 
the  door,  the  voices  in  the  hall,  the  shouts,  and  the  arms 
of  Andrew  Lanning  around  her,  and  his  tense,  desperate 
face  close  to  hers.  It  became  less  dreamlike  that  mo- 
ment. It  became  a  living  thing  that  grew  more  and 
more  vivid.  She  began  to  understand  that  if  she  lived 
to  be  a  hundred,  she  would  never  find  that  memory  dim- 
mer. Men  had  made  love  to  her,  had  poured  out  their 
hearts  before  her,  but  only  once  she  had  seen  the  soul  of 
a  man.  And  very  naturally  she  kept  thinking:  What 
did  he  see  in  return?  No,  he  had  not  seen  the  truth, 
but  he  had  taken  away  a  picture  to  worship.  It  was  not 
strange  that  she  did  not  hold  this  against  young  Lanning. 

When  her  eyes  were  misty  with  this  thought,  and  a 
half-sad,  half-happy  smile  was  touching  the  corners  of 
her  mouth,  Charles  Merchant  knocked  at  her  door. 
Truly  it  was  a  most  inopportune  moment,  but,  since  she 
had  promised  to  become  his  wife,  Charles  made  a  com- 
mon masculine  mistake — he  considered  that  she  was 
already  a  possession  and  that  even  her  thoughts  belonged 
to  him.  She  gave  herself  one  moment  in  which  to  clear 
the  wistfulness  from  her  face,  one  moment  to  banish  the 
queer  pain  of  knowing  that  she  would  never  see  this  wild 
Andrew  again,  .and  then  she  told  Charles  to  come  in. 

In  fact,  he  was  already  opening  the  door,  and  she 
resented  this  fiercely.  Besides,  there  was  a  ragged  crack 
across  the  door  where  they  had  battered  it  down  early 
that  day.  Then  Charles  stood  before  her.  He  was  calm 


ANDY'S  DEATH  WARRANT  75 

of  face,  but  she  guessed  an  excitement  beneath  the  sur- 
face. 

"I've  got  something  to  show  you/'  he  said. 

A  great  thought  made  her  sit  up  in  the  chair;  but  she 
was  afraid  just  then  to  stand  up.  "I  know.  The  posse 
has  reached  that  silly  boy  and  brought  him  back.  But  I 
don't  want  to  see  him  again.  Handcuffed,  and  all  that." 

"The  posse  is  here,  at  least,"  said  Charles  noncommit- 
tally.  She  was  finding  something  new  in  him.  The 
fact  that  he  could  think  and  hide  his  thoughts  from  her 
was  indeed  very  new;  for,  when  she  first  met  him,  he 
had  seemed  all  surface,  all  clean  young  manhood  with- 
out a  stain,  frank,  careless,  gay.  Also,  he  danced  won- 
derfully, and  could  wear  his  clothes.  Everything  be- 
tween them  had  grown  out  of  that,  and  an  impulse. 

"Do  you  want  me  to  see  the  six  brave  men  again?" 
she  asked,  smiling,  but  really  she  was  prying  at  his  mind 
to  get  a  dew  of  the  truth.  "Well,  I'll  come  down." 

And  she  went  down  the  stairs  with  Charles  Merchant 
beside  her;  he  kept  looking  straight  ahead,  biting  his  lips, 
and  this  made  her  wonder.  She  began  to  hum  a  gay  lit- 
tle tune,  and  the  first  bar  made  the  man  start.  So  she 
kept  on.  She  was  bubbling  with  apparent  good  nature 
when  Charles,  all  gravity,  opened  the  door  of  the  living 
room. 

The  shades  were  drawn.  The  quiet  in  that  room  was 
a  deadly,  living  thing.  And  then  she  saw,  on  the  sofa 
at  one  side  of  the  place,  a  human  f6rm  under  a  sheet. 

"Charles !"  whispered  the  girl.  She  put  out  her  hand 
and  touched  his  shoulder,  but  she  could  not  take  her  eyes 
off  that  ghastly  dead  thing.  "They — they — he's  dead 
—-Andrew  Lanning!  Why  did  you  bring  me  here?" 

"Take  the  cloth  from  his  face,"  commanded  Charles 
Merchant,  and  there  was  something  so  hard  in  his  voice 


76  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

that  she  obeyed.     She  did  not  want  to  see  the  horror 
beneath,  but  she  followed  his  order  in  a  daze. 

The  sheet  came  away  under  her  touch,  and  she  was 
looking  into  the  sallow  face  of  Bill  Dozier.  She  had 
remembered  him  because  of  the  sad  mustaches,  that 
morning,  and  his  big  voice. 

"That's  what  your  romantic  boy  out  of  a  book  has 
done/'  said  Charles  Merchant.  "Look  at  his  work!" 

But  she  dropped  the  sheet  and  whirled  on  him. 

"And  they  left  him "  she  said. 

"Anne,"  said  he,  "are  you  thinking  about  the  safety 
of  that  murderer — now?  He's  safe,  but  they'll  get  him 
later  on;  he's  as  good  as  dead,  if  that's  what  you  want 
to  know." 

"God  help  him !"  said  the  girl. 

And  going  back  a  pace,  she  stood  in  the  thick  shadow, 
leaning  against  the  wall,  with  one  hand  across  her  lips. 
It  reminded  Charles  of  the  picture  he  had  seen  when  he 
broke  into  her  room  after  Andrew  Lanning  had  escaped. 
And  she  looked  now,  as,  then,  more  white,  more  beauti- 
ful, more  wholly  to  be  desired  than  he  had  ever  known 
her  before.  Yet  he  could  neither  move  nor  speak.  He 
saw  her  go  out  of  the  room  with  staring  eyes.  Then, 
without  stopping  to  replace  the  sheet,  he  followed. 

He  had  hoped  to  wipe  the  last  thought  of  that  vaga- 
bond blacksmith  out  of  her  mind  with  the  shock  of  this 
horror.  Instead,  he  knew  now  that  he  had  done  quite 
another  thing.  And  in  addition  he  had  probably  made 
her  despise  him  for  taking  her  to  confront  such  a  sight. 

All  in  all,  Charles  Merchant  was  exceedingly  thought- 
ful as  he  closed  the  door  and  stepped  into  the  hall.  He 
ran  up  the  stairs  to  her  room.  The  door  was  closed. 
There  was  no  answer  to  his  knock,  and  by  trying  the 
knob  he  found  that  she  had  locked  herself  in.  And  the 


ANDY'S  DEATH  WARRANT  77 

next  moment  he  could  hear  her  sobbing.  He  stood  for 
a  moment  more,  listening,  and  wishing  Andrew  Lanning 
dead  with  all  his  heart. 

Then  he  went  down  to  the  garage,  climbed  into  his  car, 
and  burned  up  the  road  between  his  place  and  that  of 
Hal  Dozier.  There  was  very  little  similarity  between 
the  two  brothers.  Bill  had  been  tall  and  lean;  Hal  was 
compact  and  solid,  and  he  had  the  fighting  agility  of  a 
starved  coyote.  He  had  a  smooth-shaven  face  as  well, 
and  a  clear  gray  eye,  which  was  known  wherever  men 
gathered  in  the  mountain  desert.  There  was  no  news  to 
give  him.  A  telephone  message  had  already  told  him  of 
the  death  of  Bill  Dozier. 

"But,"  said  Charles  Merchant,  "there's  one  thing  I  car. 
do.  I  can  set  you  free  to  run  down  this  Lanning." 

"How?" 

"You're  needed  on  your  ranch,  Hal ;  but  I  want  you 
to  let  me  stand  the  expenses  of  this  trip.  Take  your 
time,  make  sure  of  him,  and  run  him  into  the  ground." 

"My  frien',"  said  Hal  Dozier,  "you  turn  a  pleasure 
into  a  real  party." 

And  Charles  Merchant  left  knowing  that  he  had  signed 
the  death  warrant  of  young  Lanning.  In  all  the  history 
of  the  mountain  desert  there  was  a  tale  of  only  one  man 
who  had  escaped,  once  Hal-  Dozier  took  his  trail,  and  that 
man  had  blown  out  his  own  brains. 


CHAPTER  XI 

ANDY   TAKES   CARDS 

FAR  away  in  the  western  sky  Andy  Lanning  saw  a 
black  dot  that  moved  in  wide  circles  and  came  up 
across  the  heavens  slowly,  and  he  knew  it  was  a  buzzard 
that  scented  carrion  and  was  coming  up  the  wind  toward 
that  scent.  He  had  seen  them  many  a  time  before  on 
their  gruesome  trails,  and  the  picture  which  he  carried 
was  not  a  pleasant  one. 

But  now  the  picture  that  drifted  through  his  mind  was 
still  more  horrible.  It  was  a  human  body  lying  face 
downward  in  the  sand  with  the  wind  ruffling  in  the  hair 
and  the  hat  rolled  a  few  paces  off  and  the  gun  close  to 
the  outstretched  hand.  That  was  the  way  they  would 
leave  him  when  they  found  him.  And  he  knew  from 
Uncle  Jasper  that  no  matter  how  far  the  trail  led,  or  how 
many  years  it  was  ridden,  the  end  of  the  outlaw  was 
always  the  same — death  and  the  body  left  to  the  buz- 
zards. Or  else,  in  some  barroom,  a  footfall  from  be- 
hind and  a  bullet  through  the  back. 

The  flesh  of  Andy  crawled. 

Hunger  was  a  sharp  pain  in  his  vitals.  He  smoked  a 
cigarette  and  forgot  it.  His  eyes  dimmed  from  long 
wakefulness  and  from  squinting  across  the  sand,  but  one 
rub  of  his  hand  restored  the  freshness  of  his  sight.  It 
was  not  possible  for  him  to  relax  in  vigilance  for  a  mo- 
ment, lest  danger  come  upon  him  when  he  least  expected 
ft.  Perhaps,  in  some  open  space  like  this.  He  could 
feel  the  muscles  of  his  face  drawing  with  the  test,  but 


ANDY  TAKES  CARDS  79 

he  went  on  until  the  sun  was  low  in  the  west  and  all  the 
sky  was  rimmed  with  color. 

The  mountain  desert  changed  now.  The  hills  were  hung 
with  blue  on  the  eastern  sides.  The  coolness  seemed  to 
come  out  of  the  ground,  and  the  wind  changed  its  direc- 
tion. But  for  Andy  these  were  not  pleasant  things. 
Night  had  become  an  enemy.  And  the  first  moments  of 
his  long  torment  were  beginning — men,  who  made  up  his 
danger,  were  also  a  necessity,  and  he  felt  that  any  dan- 
ger were  better  than  this  solitude  and  the  dark. 

The  sun  was  down,  and  the  dusk  had  come  over  the 
hills  in  a  rush,  when  he  saw  a  house  half  lost  in  the  shad- 
ows. It  was  a  narrow- fronted,  two-storied,  unpainted, 
lonely  place,  without  sign  of  a  porch.  It  was  obviously 
not  made  to  be  lived  in  and  enjoyed.  It  was  only  a  shel- 
ter into  which  people  crept  for  the  night,  or  where  they 
ate  their  meals.  And  here  certainly,  where  there  was  no 
vestige  of  a  town  near,  and  where  there  was  no  telephone, 
the  news  of  the  deaths  of  Bill  Dozier  and  Buck  Heath 
could  not  have  come.  Andy  accepted  the  house  as  a 
blessing  and  went  straight  toward  it. 

But  the  days  of  carelessness  were  over  for  Andy,  and 
he  would  never  again  approach  a  house  without  search- 
ing it  like  a  human  face.  He  studied  this  shack  as  he 
came  closer.  It  was  an  evil-appearing  building,  with  no 
sign  of  smoke  from  the  stovepipe  until  he  was  almost 
on  the  house,  and  then  he  saw  a  meager  wisp  of  vapor, 
showing  that  the  fire  had  almost  burned  down.  And  if 
there  were  people  in  the  building  they  did  not  choose  to 
show  a  light.  The  windows  were  black  inside,  and  on 
the  outside  they  glimmered  with  the  light  reflected  from 
the  sky. 

Andy  went  around  to  the  rear  of  the  house,  where 
there  was  a  low  shed  beside  the  corral,  half  tumbled  down 


8o  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

oecause  the  owner  had  fed  from  it  carelessly ;  but  in  the 
corral  were  five  or  six  fine  horses — wild  fellows  with 
bright  eyes  and  long  forelocks.  They  had  the  long 
necks  of  speed,  and  lithe,  strong  bodies.  Andy  looked 
upon  them  wistfully.  Not  one  of  them  but  was  worth 
the  price  of  three  of  the  pinto;  but  as  for  money  there 
was  not  five  dollars  in  the  pocket  of  Andy. 

Stripping  the  saddle  from  the  pinto,  he  put  it  under 
the  shed  and  left  the  mustang  to  feed  and  find  water  in 
the  small  pasture.  Then  he  went  with  the  bridle,  that 
immemorial  sign  of  one  who  seeks  hospitality  in  the 
West,  toward  the  house.  He  was  met  halfway  by  a 
tall,  strong  man  of  middle  age  or  more.  There  was  no 
hat  on  his  head,  which  was  covered  with  a  shock  of 
brown  hair  much  younger  than  the  face  beneath  it.  He 
beheld  Andy  without  enthusiasm. 

"You  figure  on  layin'  over  here  for  the  night,  stran- 
ger?" he  asked. 

"That's  it,"  said  Andy. 

"I'll  tell  you  how  it  is,"  said  the  big  man  in  the  tone 
of  one  who  is  willing  to  argue  a  point.  "We  ain't  got  a 
very  big  house — you  see  it — and  it's  pretty  well  filled 
right  now.  If  you  was  to  slope  over  the  hills  there  you'd 
find  Gainorville  inside  of  ten  miles." 

Andy  explained  that  he  was  at  the  end  of  a  hard  ride. 
He  pointed  to  the  pinto,  which,  in  spite  of  a  roll  in  the 
pasture,  still  bore  the  distinct  outlines  of  the  saddle,  black 
with  sweat,  and  all  the  rest  of  him  dusted  with  salt,  where 
the  perspiration  had  come  out  and  repeatedly  dried  in 
layers.  "Ten  more  miles  would  kill  the  pinto,"  he  said 
simply.  "But  if  you  don't  mind,  I'll  have  a  bit  of  chow 
and  then  turn  in  out  there  in  the  shed.  That  won't  crowd 
you  in  your  sleeping  quarters,  and  it'll  be  fine  for  me." 

The  big  man  opened  his  mouth  to  say  something  more. 


ANDY  TAKES  CARDS  81 

Andy,  watching  him  with  active  eyes,  saw  three  distinct 
shades  of  expression  cross  the  face  of  the  other;  then 
his  host  turned  on  his  heel. 

"I  guess  we  can  fix  you  up,"  he  said.  "Come  on 
along." 

At  another  time  Andy  would  have  lost  a  hand  rather 
than  accept  such  churlish  hospitality,  but  he  was  in  no 
position  to  choose.  The  pain  of  hunger  was  like  a  voice 
speaking  in  him. 

It  was  a  four-room  house;  the  rooms  on  the  ground 
floor  were  the  kitchen,  where  Andy  cooked  his  own  sup- 
per of  bacon  and  coffee  and  flapjacks,  and  the  combina- 
tion living  room,  dining  room,  and,  from  the  bunk  cov- 
ered with  blankets  on  one  side,  the  bedroom.  Upstairs 
there  must  have  been  two  more  rooms  of  the  same  size. 

Seated  about  a  little  kitchen  table  in  the  front  room, 
Andy  found  three  men  playing  an  interrupted  game  of 
blackjack,  which  was  resumed  when  the  big  fellow  took 
his  place  before  his  hand.  The  three  gave  Andy  a  look 
and  a  grunt,  but  otherwise  they  paid  no  attention  to  him. 
And  if  they  had  consulted  him  he  could  have  asked  for 
no  greater  favor.  Yet  he  had  an  odd  hunger  about  see- 
ing them.  They  were  the  last  men  in  many  a  month,, 
perhaps,  whom  he  could  look  at  or  whom  he  could  per- 
mit to  see  him  without  a  fear.  He  brought  his  supper 
into  the  living  room  and  put  his  cup  of  coffee  on  the 
floor  beside  him.  While  he  ate  he  watched  them  to- 
gether and  in  detail. 

They  were,  all  in  all,  the  least  prepossessing  group  he 
had  ever  seen.  The  man  who  had  brought  him  in  was 
far  from  well  favored,  but  he  was  handsome  compared 
with  the  others.  Opposite  him  sat  a  tall  fellow  very 
erect  and  stiff  in  his  chair.  A  candle  had  recently  been 
lighted,  and  it  stood  on  the  table  near  this  man.  It 


82  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

showed  a  wan  face  of  excessive  leanness,  and  lank  hair 
that  seemed  damp  straggling  across  his  forehead.'  His 
eyes  were  deep  under  bony  brows,  and  they  alone  of  the 
features  showed  any  expression  as  the  game  progressed, 
turning  now  and  again  to  the  other  faces  with  glances 
that  burned;  he  was  winning  steadily.  A  red-headed 
man  was  on  his  left,  with  his  back  to  Andy;  but  now 
and  again  he  turned,  and  Andy  saw  a  heavy  jowl  and  a 
skin  blotched  with  great,  rusty  freckles.  His  shoulders 
overflowed  the  back  of  his  chair,  which  creaked  whenever 
he  moved,  and  Andy  knew  the  man  was  a  veritable 
Hercules;  when  he  dropped  his  arm  the  tips  of  his  fingers 
brushed  close  to  the  floor. 

The  man  who  faced  the  redhead  was  as  light  as  his 
companion  was  ponderous.  He  had  frail  hands  and 
wrists,  almost  girlish;  he  was  dressed  also  in  a  sort  of 
feminine  neatness  and  display;  his  voice  was  gentle,  his 
eyes  large  and  soft,  and  his  profile  was  exceedingly  hand- 
some. But  in  the  full  view  Andy  saw  nothing  except  a 
grisly,  purple  scar  that  twisted  down  beneath  the  right 
eye  of  the  man.  It  drew  down  the  lower  lid  of  that  eye, 
and  it  pulled  the  mouth  of  the  man  a  bit  awry,  so  that 
he  seemed  to  be  smiling  in  a  smug,  half-apologetic  man- 
ner. In  spite  of  his  youth  and  his  gentle  manner  he  was 
unquestionably  the  dominant  spirit  here.  Once  or  twice 
the  others  lifted  their  voices  in  argument,  and  a  single 
word  from  him  cut  them  short.  And  when  he  raised  his 
head,  now  and  again,  to  look  at  Andy,  it  gave  the  latter 
a  feeling  that  his  secret  was  read  and  all  his  past  known. 

These  strange  fellows  had  not  asked  his  name,  and 
neither  had  they  introduced  themselves,  but  from  their 
table  talk  he  gathered  that  the  redhead  was  named  Jeff, 
the  funereal  man  with  the  bony  face  was  Larry,  the 
brown-haired  one  was  Joe.  and  he  of  the  scar  and  the 


ANDY  TAKES  CARDS  83 

smile  was  Henry.  It  occurred  to  Andy  as  odd  that  such 
rough  boon  companions  had  not  shortened  that  name 
for  convenience. 

They  played  with  the  most  intense  concentration.  As 
the  night  deepened  and  the  windows  became  black  slabs 
Joe  brought  another  candle  and  reenforced  this  light  by 
hanging  a  lantern  from  a  nail  on  the  wall.  This  illumi- 
nated the  entire  room,  but  in  a  partial  and  dismal  man- 
ner. The  game  went  on.  They  were  playing  for  high 
stakes;  Andrew  Lanning  had  never  seen  so  much  cash 
assembled  at  one  time.  They  had  stacks  of  unmistakable 
yellow  gold  before  them — actually  stacks.  He  counted 
fifty  ten-dollar  gold  pieces  before  Jeff;  Henry  lost  stead- 
ily, but  replaced  his  losses  from  an  apparently  inexhausti- 
ble purse;  Joe  had  about  the  same  amount  as  Jeff,  but 
the  winner  was  Larry.  That  skull-faced  gentleman  was 
fairly  barricaded  behind  heaps  of  money.  Andy  esti- 
mated swiftly  that  there  must  be  well  over  two  thousand 
dollars  in  those  stacks. 

He  finished  his  supper,  and,  having  taken  the  tin  cup 
and  plate  out  into  the  next  room  and  cleaned  them,  he 
had  no  sooner  come  back  to  the  door,  on  the  verge  of 
bidding  them  good  night,  than  Henry  invited  him  to  sit 
down  and  take  a  hand. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   BRINGER   OF    NEWS 

HE  had  never  studied  any  men  as  he  had  watched  these 
men  at  cards.  Andrew  Lanning  had  spent  most 
of  his  life  quite  indifferent  to  the  people  around  him,  but 
now  it  was  necessary  to  make  quick  judgments  and  sure. 
He  had  to  read  unreadable  faces.  He  had  to  guess  mo- 
tives. He  had  to  sense  the  coming  of  danger  before  it 
showed  its  face.  And,  watching  them  with  close  intent- 
ness,  he  understood  that  at  least  three  of  them  were 
cheating  at  every  opportunity.  Henry,  alone,  was  play- 
ing a  square  game ;  as  for  the  heavy  winner,  Larry,  An- 
drew had  reason  to  believe  that  he  was  adroitly  palming 
an  ace  now  and  again — luck  ran  too  consistently  his  way. 
For  his  own  part,  he  was  no  card  expert,  and  he  smiled 
as  Henry  made  his  offer. 

"I've  got  eleven  dollars  and  fifty  cents  in  my  pocket," 
he  said  frankly.  "1  won't  sit  in  at  that  game." 

"Then  the  game  is  three-handed,"  said  Henry  as  he 
got  up  from  his  chair.  "I've  fed  you  boys  enough,"  he 
continued  in  his  soft  voice.  "I  know  a  three-handed 
game  is  no  good,  but  I'm  through.  Unless  you'll  try  a 
round  or  two  with  'em,  stranger?  They've  made  enough 
money.  Maybe  they'll  play  for  silver  for  the  fun  of  it, 
eh,  boys?" 

There  was  no  enthusiastic  assent.  The  three  looked 
gravely  at  a  victim  with  eleven  dollars  and  fifty  cents, 
the  chair  of  big  Jeff  creaking  noisily  as  he  turned.  "Sit 


THE  BRINGER  OF  NEWS  85 

in,"  said  Jeff.  He  made  a  brief  gesture,  like  one  wiping 
an  obstacle  out  of  the  way. 

"All  right/'  nodded  Andy,  for  the  thing  began  to  excite 
him.  He  turned  to  Henry.  "Suppose  you  deal  for  us?" 

The  scar  on  Henry's  face  changed  color,  and  his 
habitual  smile  broadened.  "Well!"  exclaimed  Larry. 
"Maybe  the  gent  don't  like  the  way  we  been  runnin'  this 
game  in  other  ways.  Maybe  he's  got  a  few  more  sug- 
gestions to  make,  sittin'  in?  I  like  to  be  obligin'." 

He  grinned,  and  the  effect  was  ghastly. 

"Thanks,"  said  Andy.  "That  lets  me  out  as  far  as 
suggestions  go."  He  paused  with  his  hand  on  the  back 
of  the  chair,  and  something  told  him  that  Larry  would 
as  soon  run  a  knife  into  him  as  take  a  drink  of  water. 
The  eyes  burned  up  at  him  out  of  the  shadow  of  the 
brows,  but  Andy,  though  his  heart  leaped,  made  himself 
meet  the  stare.  Suddenly  it  wavered,  and  only  then 
would  Andy  sit  down.  Henry  had  drawn  up  another 
chair. 

"That  idea  looks  good  to  me,"  he  said.  "I  think  I 
shall  deal."  And  forthwith,  as  one  who  may  not  be  re- 
sisted, he  swept  up  the  cards  and  began  to  shuffle. 

The  others  at  once  lost  interest.  Each  of  them  non- 
chalantly produced  silver,  and  they  began  to  play  negli- 
gently, careless  of  their  stakes. 

But  to  Andy,  who  had  only  played  for  money  half  a 
dozen  times  before,  this  was  desperately  earnest.  He 
kept  to  a  conservative  game,  and  slowly  but  surely  he 
saw  his  silver  being  converted  into  gold.  Only  Larry 
-^oticed  his  gains — the  others  were  indifferent  to  it,  but 
the  skull-faced  man  tightened  his  lips  as  he  saw.  Sud- 
denly he  began  betting  in  gold,  ten  dollars  for  each  card 
he  drew.  The  others  were  out  of  that  hand.  Andy, 
breathless,  for  he  had  an  ace  down,  saw  a  three  and  a 


86  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

two  fall — took  the  long  chance,  and,  with  the  luck  behind 
him,  watched  a  five-spot  flutter  down  to  join  his  draw. 
Yet  Larry,  taking  the  same  draw,  was  not  busted.  He 
had  a  pair  of  deuces  and  a  four.  There  he  stuck,  and 
it  stood  to  reason  that  he  could  not  win.  Yet  he  bet 
recklessly,  raising  Andy  twice,  until  the  latter  had  no 
more  money  on  the  table  to  call  a  higher  bet.  The  show- 
down revealed  an  ace  under  cover  for  Larry  also.  Now 
he  leaned  across  the  table,  smiling  at  Andrew. 

"I  like  the  hand  you  show/'  said  Larry,  "but  I  don't 
like  your  face  behind  it,  my  friend/' 

His  smile  went  out;  his  hand  jerked  back;  and  then 
the  lean,  small  hand  of  Henry  shot  out  and  fastened  on 
the  tall  man's  wrist.  "You  skunk !"  said  Henry.  "D'you 
want  to  get  the  kid  for  that  beggarly  mess  ?  Bah !" 

Andy,  colorless,  his  blood  cold,  brushed  aside  the  arm 
of  the  intercessor. 

"Partner,"  he  said,  leaning  a  little  forward  in  turn, 
and  thereby  making  his  holster  swing  clear  of  the  seat  of 
his  chair,  "partner,  I  don't  mind  your  words,  but  I  don't 
like  the  way  you  say  'em." 

When  he  began  to  speak  his  voice  was  shaken ;  before 
he  had  finished,  his  tones  rang,  and  he  felt  once  more 
that  overwhelming  desire  which  was  like  the  impulse 
to  fling  himself  from  a  height.  He  had  felt  it  before, 
when  he  watched  the  posse  retreat  with  the  body  of  Bill 
Dozier.  He  felt  it  now,  a  vast  hunger,  an  almost  blind- 
ing eagerness  to  see  Larry  make  an  incriminating  move 
with  his  bony,  hovering  right  hand.  The  bright  *eyes 
burned  at  him  for  a  moment  longer  out  of  the  shadow. 
Then,  again,  they  wavered,  and  turned  away. 

Andy  knew  that  the  fellow  had  no  more  stomach  for 
a  fight.  Shame  might  have  made  him  go  through  with 


THE  BRINGER  OF  NEWS  87 

the  thing  he  started,  however,  had  not  Henry  cut  in 
again  and  given  Larry  a  chance  to  withdraw  gracefully. 

"The  kid's  called  your  bluff,  Larry,"  he  said.  "And 
the  rest  of  us  don't  need  to  see  you  pull  any  target  prac- 
tice. Shake  hands  with  the  kid,  will  you,  and  tell  him 
you  were  joking!" 

Larry  settled  back  in  his  chair  with  a  grunt,  and  Henry, 
without  a  word,  tipped  back  in  his  chair  and  kicked  the 
table.  Andy,  beside  him,  saw  the  move  start,  and  he 
had  just  time  to  scoop  his  own  winnings,  including  that 
last  rich  bet,  off  the  table  top  and  into  his  pocket.  As 
for  the  rest  of  the  coin,  it  slid  with  a  noisy  jangle  to  the 
floor,  and  it  turned  the  other  three  men  into  scrambling 
madmen.  They  scratched  and  clawed  at  the  money, 
cursing  volubly,  and  Andy,  stepping  back  out  of  the 
fracas,  saw  the  scar-faced  man  watching  with  a  smile  of 
contempt.  There  was  a  snarl ;  Jeff  had  Joe  by  the  throat, 
and  Joe  was  reaching  for  his  gun.  Henry  moved  for- 
ward to  interfere  once  more,  but  this  time  he  was  not 
needed.  A  clear  whistling  sounded  outside  the  house, 
and  a  moment  later  the  door  was  kicked  open.  A  man 
came  in  with  his  saddle  on  his  hip. 

His  appearance  converted  the  threatening  fight  into 
a  scene  of  jovial  good  nature.  The  money  was  swept 
up  at  random,  as  though  none  of  them  had  the  slightest 
care  what  became  of  it.  Coin  appeared  to  be  made  cheap 
by  the  appearance  of  this  fifth  man. 

"Havin'  one  of  your  little  parties,  eh  ?"  said  the  stran- 
ger. "What  started  it?" 

"He  did,  Scottie,"  answered  Larry,  and,  stVetching  out 
an  arm  of  enormous  length,  he  pointed  at  Andrew. 

Again  it  required  the  intervention  of  Henry  to  explain 
matters,  and  Scottie,  with  his  hands  on  his  hips,  turned 
and  surveyed  Andrew  with  considering  eyes.  He  wa* 


88  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

much  different  from  the  rest.  Whereas,  they  had  one 
and  all  a  peculiarly  unhealthy  effect  upon  Andy,  this 
newcomer  was  a  cheery  fellow,  with  an  eye  as  clear  as 
crystal,  and  color  in  his  tanned  cheeks.  He  had  one  of 
those  long  faces  which  invariably  imply  shrewdness,  and 
he  canted  his  head  to  one  side  while  he  watched  Andy. 
"You're  him  that  put  the  pinto  in  the  corral,  I  guess?" 
he  said. 

Andy  nodded. 

There  was  no  further  mention  of  the  troubles  of  that 
card  game.  Jeff  and  Joe  and  Larry  were  instantly  busied 
about  the  kitchen  and  in  arranging  the  table,  while  Scot- 
tie,  after  the  manner  of  a  guest,  bustled  about  and  accom- 
plished little. 

But  the  eye  of  Andrew,  then  and  thereafter,  whenever 
he  was  near  the  five,  kept  steadily  upon  the  scar-faced 
man.  Henry  had  tilted  his  chair  back  against  the  wall. 
The  night  had  come  on  chill,  with  a  rising  wind  that 
hummed  through  the  cracks  of  the  ill-built  wall  and 
tossed  the  flame  in  the  throat  of  the  chimney;  Henry 
draped  a  coat  like  a  cloak  around  his  shoulders  and  buried 
his  chin  in  his  hands,  separated  from  the  others  by  a  vast 
gulf.  Presently  Scottie  was  sitting  at  the  table.  The 
others  were  gathered  around  him  in  expectant  attitudes. 
One  or  two  unavoidable  side  glances  flashed  across  at 
Andy,  and  he  knew  that  he  was  not  wanted,  but  he  was 
too  much  fascinated  by  this  strange  society  to  leave. 

Red-headed  Jeff,  his  burly  face  twisting  with  anxiety, 
asked :  "And  did  you  see  her,  man  ?" 

"Sure  did  I,"  nodded  Scottie.  "She's  doin'.  fine. 
Nothin'  to  be  asked  better.  She  had  some  messages  to 
send  you,  lad."  He  smiled  at  Jeff,  who  sighed. 

Then  he  turned  to  Larry.  "I  sent  the  money,"  he 
said,  and  the  skull- faced  man  nodded. 


THE  BRINGER  OF  NEWS  89 

To  Joe:  "The  kid  weighs  eighty-seven  pounds. 
Looks  more  a  ringer  for  you  every  day." 

To  each  of  them  one  important  message,  except  for 
Henry.  "What  else  is  new?"  they  exclaimed  in  one 
voice. 

"Oh,  about  a  million  things.  Let  me  get  some  of  this 
ham  into  my  face,  and  then  I'll  talk.  I've  got  a  batch 
of  newspapers  yonder.  There's  a  gold  rush  on  up  to 
Tolliver's  Creek." 

Andy  blinked,  for  that  news  was  at  least  four  weeks 
old.  But  now  came  a  tide  of  other  news,  and  almost  all 
of  it  was  stale  stuff  to  him.  But  the  men  drank  it  in — 
all  except  Henry,  silent  in  his  corner.  He  was  relaxed, 
as  if  he  slept.  "But  the  most  news  is  about  the  killing 
of  Bill  Dozier." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ANDY   IS   INTRODUCED 

OL'  BILL!"  grunted  red-headed  Jeff.  "Well,  I'll  be 
hung !  There's  one  good  deed  done.  He  was  over- 
due, anyways." 

Andy,  waiting  breathlessly,  watched  lest  the  eye  of  the 
narrator  should  swing  toward  him  for  the  least  part  of 
a  second.  But  Scottie  seemed  utterly  oblivious  of  the 
fact  that  he  sat  in  the  same  room  with  the  murderer. 

"Well,  he  got  it,"  said  Scottie.  "And  he  didn't  get  it 
from  behind.  Seems  there  was  a  young  gent  in  Martin- 
dale — all  you  boys  know  old  Jasper  Lanning?"  There 
was  an  answering  chorus.  "Well,  he's  got  a  nephew, 
Andrew  Lanning.  This  kid  was  sort  of  a  bashful  kind, 
they  say.  But  yesterday  he  up  and  bashed  a  fellow  in 
the  jaw,  and  the  man  went  down.  Whacked  his  head  on 
a  rock,  and  young  Lanning  thought  his  man  was  dead. 
So  he  holds  off  the  crowd  with  a  gun,  hops  a  horse,  and 
beats  it." 

"Pretty,  pretty !"  murmured  Larry.  "But  what's  that 
got  to  do  with  that  hyena,  Bill  Dozier  ?" 

"I  don't  get  it  all  hitched  up  straight.  Most  of  the 
news  come  from  Martindale  to  town  by  telephone. 
Seems  this  young  Lanning  was  follered  by  Bill  Dozier. 
He  was  always  a  hound  for  a  job  like  that,  eh?" 

There  was  a  growl  of  assent. 

"He  hand-picked  five  rough  ones  and  went  after  Lan- 
ning. Chased  him  all  night.  Landed  at  John  Mer- 
chant's place.  The  kid  had  dropped  in  there  to  call  on 


ANDY  IS  INTRODUCED  91 

a  girl.  Can  you  beat  that  for  cold  nerve,  him  figuring 
that  he'd  killed  a  man,  and  Bill  Dozier  and  five  more  on 
his  trail  to  bring  him  back  to  wait  and  see  whether  the 
buck  he  dropped  lived  or  died — and  then  to  slide  over, 
and  call  on  a  lady  ?  No,  you  can't  raise  that !" 

But  the  tidings  were  gradually  breaking  in  upon  the 
mind  of  Andrew  Lanning.  Buck  Heath  had  not  been 
dead ;  the  pursuit  was  simply  to  bring  him  back  on  some 

charge  of  assault;  and  now — Bill  Dozier The  head 

of  Andrew  swam. 

"Seems  he  didn't  know  her,  either.  Just  paid  a  call 
round  about  dawn  and  then  rode  on.  Oh,  that's  the 
frosty  nerve  for  you !  Bill  comes  along  a  little  later  on 
the  trail,  gets  new  horses  from  Merchant,  and  runs  down 
Lanning  early  this  morning.  Runs  him  down,  and  then 
Lanning  turns  in  the  saddle  and  drills  Bill  through  the 
head  at  five  hundred  yards." 

Henry  came  to  life. 

"How  far?"  he  said. 

''That's  what  they  got  over  the  telephone,"  said  Scot- 
tie  apologetically. 

"Then  the  news  got  to  Hal  Dozier  from  Merchant's 
house.  Hal  hops  on  the  wire  and  gets  in  touch  \vith  the 
governor,  and  in  about  ten  seconds  they  make  this  Lan- 
ning kid  an  outlaw  and  stick  a  price  on  his  head — five 
thousand,  I  think,  and  they  say  Merchant  is  behind  it. 
The  telephone  was  buzzing  with  it  when  I  left  town,  and 
most  of  the  boys  were  oiling  up  their  gats  and  getting 
ready  to  make  a  play.  Pretty  easy  money,  eh,  for  put- 
ting the  rollers  under  a  kid?" 

Andrew  Lanning  muttered  aloud :    "An  outlaw !" 

"Not  the  first  time  Bill  Dozier  has  done  it,"  said  Henry 
calmly.  "That's  an  old  maneuver  of  his — to  hound  a 
man  from  a  little  crime  to  a  big  one." 


92  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

The  throat  of  Andrew  was  dry.  "Did  you  get  a  de- 
scription of  young  Lanning?"  he  asked. 

"Sure,"  nodded  Scottie.  "Twenty-three  years  old, 
about  five  feet  ten,  black  hair  and  black  eyes,  good  look- 
ing, big  shoulders,  quiet  spoken." 

Andrew  made  a  gesture  and  looked  carelessly  out  the 
back  window,  but,  from  the  corner  of  his  eyes,  he  was 
noting  the  five  men.  Not  a  line  of  their  expressions 
escaped  him.  He  was  seeing,  literally,  with  eyes  in  the 
back  of  his  head;  and  if,  by  the  interchange  of  one  know- 
ing glance,  or  by  a  significant  silence,  even,  these  fellows 
had  indicated  that  they  remotely  guessed  his  identity,  he 
would  have  been  on  his  feet  like  a  tiger,  gun  in  hand, 
and  backing  for  the  door.  Five  thousand  dollars !  What 
would  not  one  of  these  men  do  for  that  sum?  And  yet, 
money  seemed  plentiful  among  them.  But  five  thousand 
dollars!  A  man  could  buy  twenty  fine  horses  for  that 
pricfe;  he  could  buy  a  store  and  set  up  in  business  for 
that  price.  A  struggling  family  could  lift  its  mortgage 
and  breathe  freely  for  a  smaller  sum  than  that.  And  of 
his  few  friends,  what  one  was  there  who  would  shelter 
him  or  aid  him  ?  What  human  being  in  the  world  would 
prefer  him  to  five  thousand  dollars  ? 

All  this  ran  through  the  brain  of  Andy  in  the  second 
in  which  he  turned  his  head  toward  the  window.  He 
had  been  keyed  to  the  breaking  point  before;  but  his 
alertness  was  now  trebled,  and,  like  a  sensitive  barometer, 
he  felt  the  danger  of  Larry,  the  brute  strength  of  Jeff, 
the  cunning  of  Henry,  the  grave  poise  of  Joe,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  Scottie — an  unknown  force. 

But  Scottie  was  running  on  in  his  talk ;  he  was  telling 
of  how  he  met  the  storekeeper  in  town;  he  was  naming 
everything  he  saw;  these  fellows  seemed  to  hunger  for 
the  minutest  news  of  men.  They  poured  forth  a  chorus 


ANDY  IS  INTRODUCED  93 

of  questions  about  a  new  house  that  was  being  built; 
they  broke  into  admiring  laughter  when  Scottie  told  of 
his  victorious  tilt  of  jesting  with  the  storekeeper's  daugh- 
ter; even  Henry  came  out  of  his  patient  gloom  long 
enough  to  smile  at  this,  and  the  rest  were  like  children. 
Larry  was  laughing  so  heartily  that  his  eyes  began  to 
twinkle.  He  even  invited  Andrew  in  on  the  mirth. 

At  this  point  Andy  stood  up  and  stretched  elaborately 
— but  in  stretching  he  put  his  arms  behind  him,  and 
stretched  them  down  rather  than  up,  so  that  his  hands 
were  never  far  from  his  hips. 

"I'll  be  turning  in,"  said  Andy,  and  stepping  back  to 
the  door  so  that  his  face  would  be  toward  them  until  the 
last  instant  of  his  exit,  he  waved  good  night. 

There  was  a  brief  shifting  of  eyes  toward  him,  and  a 
grunt  from  Jeff;  that  was  all.  Then  the  eye  of  every 
one  reverted  to  Scottie.  But  the  latter  broke  off  his 
narrative. 

"Ain't  you  sleepin'  in?"  he  asked.  "We  could  fix  you 
a  bunk  upstairs,  I  guess." 

Once  more  the  glance  of  Andrew  flashed  from  face 
to  face,  and  yet  he  did  not  allow  his  eyes  to  actually  stir 
from  Scottie.  He  was  waiting  for  some  significant 
change  of  expression,  but  that  change  did  not  come. 
They  glanced  at  him  again,  but  impatiently.  And  then 
he  saw  the  first  suspicious  thing.  Scottie  was  looking 
straight  at  Henry,  in  the  corner,  as  though  waiting  for 
a  direction,  and,  from  the  corner  of  his  eye,  Andrew  was 
aware  that  Henry  had  nodded  ever  so  slightly. 

"Here's  something  you  might  be  interested  to  know," 
said  Scottie.  "This  young  Lanning  was  riding  a  pinto 
hoss."  He  added,  while  Andrew  stood  rooted  to  the 
spot:  "You  seemed  sort  of  interested  in  the  descrip- 


94  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

tion.     I  allowed  maybe  you'd  try  your  hand  at  findin' 
him." 

Andy  understood  perfectly  that  he  was  known,  and, 
with  his  left  hand  frozen  against  the  knob  of  the  door, 
he  flattened  his  shoulders  against  the  wall  and  stood  ready 
for  the  draw.  In  the  crisis,  at  the  first  hostile  move,  he 
decided  that  he  would  dive  straight  for  the  table,  low. 
It  would  tumble  the  room  into  darkness  as  the  candles 
fell — a  semidarkness,  for  there  would  be  a  sputtering 
lantern  still. 

Then  he  would  fight  for  his  life.  And  looking  at  the 
others,  he  saw  that  they  were  changed,  indeed.  They 
were  all  facing  him,  and  their  faces  were  alive  with  in- 
terest; yet  they  made  no  hostile  move.  No  doubt  they 
awaited  the  signal  of  Henry;  there  was  the  greatest  dan- 
ger; and  now  Henry  stood  up. 

His  first  word  was  a  throwing  down  of  disguises. 
"Mr.  Lanning,"  he  said,  "I  think  this  is  a  time  for  intro- 
ductions." 

That  cold  exultation,  that  wild  impulse  to  throw  him- 
self into  the  arms  of  danger,  was  sweeping  over  Andrew. 
Not  a  nerve  in  his  body  quivered,  but  every  one  of  them 
seemed  to  be  tightened  to  the  breaking  point.  He  was 
ready  to  move  like  lightning — like  intelligent  lightning, 
choosing  its  targets.  He  made  no  gesture  toward  his 
gun,  though  his  fingers  were  curling,  but  he  said : 
"Friends,  I've  got  you  all  in  my  eye.  I'm  going  to  open 
this  door  and  go  out.  No  harm  to  any  of  you.  But  if 
you  try  to  stop  me,  it  means  trouble,  a  lot  of  trouble- 
quick!" 

Just  a  split  second  of  suspense.  If  a  foot  stirred,  or 
a  hand  raised,  Andrew's  curling  hand  would  jerk  up  and 
bring  out  a  revolver,  and  every  man  in  the  room  knew  it. 
Then  the  voice  of  Henry,  "You'd  plan  on  fighting  us  all  ?" 


ANDY  IS  INTRODUCED  95 

"Take  my  bridle  off  the  wall,"  said  Andrew,  looking 
straight  before  him  at  no  face,  and  thereby  enabled  to 
see  everything,  just  as  a  boxer  looks  in  the  eye  of  his 
opponent  and  thereby  sees  every  move  of  his  gloves. 
"Take  my  bridle  off  the  wall,  you,  Jeff,  and  throw  it  at 
my  feet" 

The  bridle  rattled  at  his  feet. 

"This  has  gone  far  enough/'  said  Henry.  "Lanning, 
you've  got  the  wrong  idea.  I'm  going  ahead  with  the 
introductions.  The  red-headed  fellow  we  call  Jeff  is 
better  known  to  the  public  as  Jeff  Rankin.  Does  that 
mean  anything  to  you  ?"  Jeff  Rankin  acknowledged  the 
introduction  with  a  broad  grin,  the  corners  of  his  mouth 
being  lost  in  the  heavy  fold  of  his  jowls.  "I  see  it 
doesn't,"  went  on  Henry.  "Very  well.  Joe's  name  is 
Joe  Clune.  Yonder  sits  Scottie  Macdougal.  There  is 
Larry  la  Roche.  And  I  am  Henry  Allister." 

The  edge  of  Andrew's  alertness  was  suddenly  dulled. 
The  last  name  swept  into  his  brain  a  wave  of  meaning, 
for  of  all  words  on  the  mountain  desert  there  was  none 
more  familiar,  more  hauntingly  well  known  than  Henry 
Allister.  "Scar-faced"  Allister,  they  called  him.  He 
had  not  yet  reached  middle  age,  and  yet,  for  nearly 
twenty  years,  his  had  been  a  name  to  conjure  with,  a 
thing  to  frighten  strong  men  by  the  bare  mention.  Of 
those  deadly  men  who  figured  in  the  tales  of  Uncle  Jasper, 
Henry  Allister  was  the  last  and  the  most  grim.  A  thou- 
sand stories  clustered  about  him :  of  how  he  killed  Wat- 
kins;  of  how  Langley,  the  famous  Federal  marshal, 
trailed  him  for  five  years  and  was  finally  killed  in  the 
duel  which  left  Allister  with  that  scar;  of  how  he  broke 
jail  at  Garrisonville  and  again  at  St.  Luke  City.  In  the 
imagination  of  Andrew  he  had  loomed  like  a  giant,  some 
seven-foot  prodigy,  whiskered,  savage  of  eye,  terrible  of 


96  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

voice.  And,  turning  toward  him,  Andrew  saw  him  in 
profile  with  the  scar  obscured — and  his  face  was  of 
almost  feminine  refinement. 

Five  thousand  dollars  ? 

A  dozen  rich  men  in  the  mountain  desert  would  each  pay 
more  than  that  for  the  apprehension  of  Allister,  dead  or 
alive.  And  bitterly  it  came  over  Andrew  that  this  genius 
of  crime,  this  heartless  murderer  as  story  depicted  him, 
was  no  danger  to  him  but  almost  a  friend.  And  the 
other  four  ruffians  of  Allister's  band  were  smiling  cor- 
dially at  him,  enjoying  his  astonishment.  The  day  be- 
fore his  hair  would  have  turned  white  in  such  a  place 
among  such  men ;  to-night  they  were  his  friends. 

''Gentlemen,"  said  Andrew,  "I'm  glad  to  meet  you." 

A  chorus  boomed  back  at  him;  he  made  out  the  dif- 
ferent voices ;  even  the  savage  Larry  la  Roche  was  smil- 
ing. "Well,  kid,  this  is  one  on  you."  "Sit  down  and 
tell  us  about  it."  "So  you  bumped  off  Bill  Dozier — the 
skunk?"  "Hang  up  your  hat  and  make  yourself  to 
home."  "You  can  share  my  bunk." 

Tears  came  to  Andrew's  eyes,  but  he  winked  them 
away. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

INVISIBLE   BONDS 

AFTER  that  things  happened  to  Andrew  in  a  swirl. 
They  were  shaking  hands  with  him.  They  were 
congratulating  him  on  the  killing  of  Bill  Dozier.  They 
were  patting  him  on  the  back.  Larry  la  Roche,  who  had 
been  so  hostile,  now  stood  up  to  the  full  of  his  ungainly 
height  and  proposed  his  health.  And  the  other  men 
drank  it  standing.  Andy  received  a  tin  cup  half  full  of 
whisky,  and  he  drank  the  burning  stuff  in  acknowledg- 
ment. The  unaccustomed  drink  went  to  his  head,  his 
muscles  began  to  relax,  his  eyes  swam.  Voices  boomed 
at  him  out  of  a.  haze.  "Why,  he's  only  a  young  kid. 
One  shot  put  him  under  the  weather." 

"Shut  up,  Larry.     He'll  learn  fast  enough. " 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  Larry  to  himself,  "he'll  learn  fast 
enough !" 

Presently  he  was  lifted  and  carried  by  strong  arms  up 
a  creaking  stairs.  He  looked  up,  and  he  saw  the  red 
hair  of  the  mighty  Jeff,  who  carried  him  as  if  he  had 
been  a  child,  and  deposited  him  among  some  blankets, 
with  as  much  care  as  if  he  had  been  a  child  indeed. 

"I  didn't  know,'1  Larry  la  Roche  was  saying.  "How 
could  I  tell  he  didn't  know  how  to  handle  his  booze? 
How  could  I  tell  a  man-killer  like  him  couldn't  stand  no 
more  than  a  girl?" 

"Shut  up  and  get  out,"  said  another  voice.  Heavy 
footsteps  retreated,  then  Andrew  heard  them  once  more 
grumbling  and  booming  below  him. 


98  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

After  that  his  head  cleared  rapidly.  Two  windows 
were  open  in  this  higher  room,  and  a  sharp  current  of 
the  night  wind  blew  across  him,  clearing  his  mind  as 
rapidly  as  wind  blows  away  a  fog.  The  alcohol  had 
only  stupefied  him  for  the  moment.  It  was  not  enough 
to  make  him  sleep,  and,  instead,  it  reacted  presently  as 
a  stimulus,  making  his  heart  flutter,  while  a  peculiar  sense 
of  depression  and  guilt  troubled  him.  Now  he  made  out 
that  one  man  had  not  left  him;  the  dark  outline  of  him 
\vas  by  the  bed,  waiting. 

"Who's  there?"  asked  Andrew. 

"Allister.     Take  it  easy." 

"I'm  all  right.     I'll  go  down  again  to  the  boys." 

'That's  what  I'm  here  to  talk  to  you  about,  kid.  Are 
you  sure  you  want  to  go  down  ?" 

He  added  slowly,  "Are  you  sure  your  head's  clear?" 

"Yep.     Sure  thing." 

"Then  listen  to  me,  Lanning,  while  I  talk.  It's  im- 
portant. Stay  here  till  the  morning,  then  ride  on." 

"Where?" 

"Oh,  away  from  Martindale,  that's  all." 

"Out  of  the  desert?     Out  of  the  mountains?" 

"Of  course.  They'll  hunt  for  you  here."  Allister 
paused,  then  went  on.  "And  when  you  get  away  what'll 
you  do  ?  Go  straight  ?" 

"God  willing,"  said  Andrew  fervently.  "It — it  was 
only  luck,  bad  luck,  that  put  me  where  I  am." 

The  outlaw  scratched  a  match  and  lighted  a  candle; 
then  he  dropped  a  little  of  the  melted  tallow  on  a  box, 
and  by  that  light  he  peered  earnestly  into  Andrew's  face. 
He  appeared  to  need  this  light  to  read  the  expression  on 
it.  It  also  enabled  Andrew  to  see  the  bare  rafters  and 
the  cobwebs  across  the  ceiling,  and  it  showed  him  the  face 
of  Allister.  Sometimes  the  play  of  shadows  made  that 


INVISIBLE  BONDS  99 

face  unreal  as  a  dream,  sometimes  the  face  was  filled 
with  poetic  beauty,  sometimes  the  light  gleamed  on  the 
scar  and  the  sardonic  smile,  and  then  it  was  a  face  out  of 
hell. 

"You're  going  to  get  away  from  the  mountain  desert 
and  go  straight,"  said  Allister  in  resume. 

"That's  it."  He  saw  that  the  outlaw  was  staring  with 
a  smile,  half  grim  and  half  sad,  into  the  shadows  and  far 
away. 

"Lanning,  let  me  tell  you.     You'll  never  get  away." 

"You  don't  understand,"  said  Andrew.  "Those  fel- 
lows downstairs  wouldn't  have  known  what  I  was  talk- 
ing about,  but  I  can  explain  to  you.  Allister,  I  don't  like 
fighting.  It — it  makes  me  sick  inside.  It  isn't  easy  to 
say,  but  I'll  whisper  it  to  you — Allister,  I'm  not  a  brave 
man !" 

He  waited  to  see  the  contempt  come  on  the  face  of 
the  famous  leader,  but  there  was  nothing  but  grave 
attention. 

"Why,"  he  went  on  in  a  rush  of  confidence,  "every- 
body in  Martindale  knows  that  I'm  not  a  fighter.  My 
uncle  made  me  work  with  guns.  He's  a  fighter.  He 
wanted  to  make  a  fighter  out  of  me.  But  I  don't  want 
to  be  one.  I  feel  friendly  toward  people,  Allister.  I 
want  them  to  like  me.  When  they  sneer  at  me  it  hurts 
me  like  knives.  The  only  reason  I  ever  wanted  to  da 
any  fighting  was  just  to  get  the  respect  of  people.  Those 
fellows  downstairs  think  that  I'm  a  sort  of  bad  hombre. 
I'm  not.  I  want  to  abide  by  the  law.  I  want  to  play 
clean  and  straight.  Why,  Allister,  when  I  turned  over 
Buck  Heath  and  saw  his  face,  I  nearly  fainted,  and 
then " 

"Wait,"  cut  in  the  other.  "That  was  your  first  man. 
You  didn't  kill  him,  but  you  thought  you  had.  You 


ioo  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

nearly  fainted,  then.  But  as  I  gather  it,  after  you  shot 
Bill  Dozier  you  simply  sat  on  your  horse  and  waited. 
Did  you  feel  like  fainting  then?" 

"No,"  explained  Andrew  hastily.  "I  wanted  to  go 
after  them  and  shoot  'em  all.  But  that  was  because 
they'd  hounded  me  and  chased  me.  They  could  have 
rushed  me  and  taken  me  prisoner  easily,  but  they  wanted 
to  shoot  me  from  a  distance — and  it  made  me  mad  to 
see  them  work  it.  I — I  hated  them  all,  and  I  had  a  rea- 
son for  it.  Curse  them!" 

He  added  hurriedly:  "But  I've  no  grudge  against 
anybody.  All  I  want  is  a  chance  to  live  quiet  and  clean." 

There  was  a  faint  sigh  from  Allister. 

"Lanning,"  he  murmured,  "I'll  tell  you  a  story.  Away 
east  from  here  there  was  a  young  chap  of  a  mighty  good 
family,  but  rather  gay  habits — nothing  vicious.  He  sim- 
ply spent  a  little  too  much  money,  and  his  father  didn't 
approve  of  it.  Well,  one  day  his  father  gave  him  twenty 
dollars  to  take  to  another  man.  Mind  that — just  twenty 
dollars.  Our  young  fellow  started  out,  but  in  the  crowd 
his  pocket  was  picked.  It  made  him  sick  when  he  found 
that  he  hadn't  that  money.  He  knew  that  his  father 
would  put  it  down  to  a  lie.  His  father  would  think  that 
he'd  spent  that  money  on  himself,  and  the  idea  of  another 
row  with  the  governor  made  the  boy  sick  inside.  Just 
the  way  you  felt  about  fighting.  •  • 

"He  told  himself  he  couldn't  go  home  until  he  had  that 
money  back.  He  couldn't  face  his  father,  you  see? 
Well,  he  was  pretty  young  and  pretty  foolish.  He  went 
into  an  alley  that  evening,  pulled  a  cloth  over  his  face 
with  eyeholes  in  it,  and  waited  until  a  well-dressed  fel- 
low came  through.  He  held  up  that  man  by  putting  a 
little  toy  pistol  under  the  man's  nose.  Then  he  went 


INVISIBLE  BONDS  101 

through  his  victim's  pockets  and  took  twenty  dollars — 
just  that,  and  left  over  a  hundred.  And  he  went  away. 

"There  was  a  hue  and  cry,  but  our  young  chap  was 
safe  at  home  in  one  of  the  most  respectable  families  in  the 
city.  Who'd  think  of  looking  there? 

"But  one  night  at  a  party — a  sort  of  town  dance,  you 
see,  our  young  chap  was  talking  in  one  of  the  anterooms. 
Pretty  soon  a  big  fellow  stepped  up  and  drew  him  to  one 
side.  'Youngster,  I  recognized  your  voice,'  he  said. 
'You're  the  one  who  stuck  me  up  in  the  alley  and  got 
twenty  bucks  from  me,  eh  ?' 

"Of  course,  our  friend  could  have  denied  it.  But  he 
didn't  think  of  that.  He  was  afraid.  He  turned  white. 
Then  he  took  out  twenty  dollars  and  put  it  into  the  other 
man's  hand.  'It  was  a  joke,'  he  said.  'Forget  about  it.' 
'Sure,'  said  the  other.  'It  was  a  joke.' 

"But  ten  days  later  the  victim  of  the  holdup  came 
again.  He  was  in  trouble.  He  wanted  a  hundred  dol- 
lars. And  the  young  chap  had  to  get  that  money — other- 
wise he'd  be  exposed. 

"And  a  week  after  that  there  was  another  call  for 
money.  It  came  while  the  youngster  was  in  the  garden 
of  the  girl  he  loved,  talking  to  her.  This  big  chap  looked 
over  the  hedge  and  called.  He  had  to  come.  He  was 
afraid.  Also,  he  was  cold  inside.  But  his  nerves  were 
steady.  He  was  frightened  to  death,  he  was  white,  but 
his  brain  was  clear.  Ever  feel  like  that,  Lanning?" 

"Go  on,"  said  Andrew  hoarsely. 

"He  said  to  the  big  man,  'Go  away  from  here,  or  I'll 
kill  you.'  Of  course,  the  big  man  laughed.  And  the 
hands  of  the  youngster  went  up  of  their  own  accord  and 
fastened  in  that  fellow's  throat.  There  wasn't  a  sound. 
But  in  one  minute  he  had  become  a  murderer.  All  the 


102  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

time  he  was  frightened  to  death,  but  he  felt  that  he  had 
to  kill  that  man. 

"Then  he  ran.  He  got  on  a  train.  He  went  two 
thousand  miles.  He  stayed  in  a  small  town  a  month, 
then  the  police  were  on  his  trail.  He  broke  away.  He 
went  on  a  ship  to  the  other  side  of  the  world.  The 
police  dropped  in  on  him,  and,  in  one  terrible  ten  seconds, 
he  shot  down  and  killed  three  men.  He  doubled  straight 
back  on  his  trail.  He  landed  in  the  mountain  desert. 
All  he  wanted  was  a  chance  to  play  clean — to  settle  down 
and  be  a  good  citizen.  But  the  law  wouldn't  let  him. 
It  kept  dogging  him.  It  kept  haunting  him.  And  where- 
ever  it  crossed  his  path  there  was  a  little  cross  of  blood. 
And,  finally,  a  good  many  years  later,  this  youngster  of 
ours,  grown  into  a  man,  sat  in  an  attic  of  an  old  shanty 
and  told  another  youngster  what  was  coming  to  him." 

"You!"  breathed  Andrew. 

"I,"  said  Allister  calmly.  "And  this  is  what  you  have 
to  hear :  All  the  time  I  thought  that  I  was  trying  to  run 
away  from  trouble,  but  really  I  was  hungry  for  the  fight- 
ing. I  wanted  the  excitement.  What  I  thought  was 
fear  was  simply  a  set  of  nerves  which  could  be  tuned  up 
to  a  thrilling  point,  but  which  would  never  break.  I'll 
tell  you  why.  I  had  the  metal  in  me  from  the  first.  In 
the  blood ;  in  my  muscles.  A  queer  sort  of  foreknowl- 
edge of  things.  Lanning,  the  moment  I  lay  eyes  on  a 
man  I  know  whether  I  can  beat  him  or  not.  I  even  know 
whether  his  bullet  will  strike  me.  Queer,  isn't  it  ?  And 
when  I  meet  the  man  who  is  going  to  kill  me  in  a  fair 
fight,  I'll  know  I'm  a  dead  man  before  the  bullet  goes 
through  my  heart.  Oh,  it's  nothing  altogether  peculiar 
to  me.  I've  talked  with  other  men  of  the  ilk.  It's  a 
characteristic;  it's  in  my  blood;  it's  iron  dust  inside  me, 
that's  all." 


INVISIBLE  BONDS  103 

Andrew  caught  a  great  breath. 

''Now  I'll  tell  you  why  I  say  all  this,  Lanning.  The 
minute  I  laid  eyes  on  you,  I  knew  you  were  one  of  my 
kind.  In  all  my  life  I've  known  only  one  other  with  that 
same  chilly  effect  in  his  eyes — that  was  Marshal  Langley 
— only  he  happened  to  be  on  the  side  of  the  law.  No 
matter.  He  had  the  iron  dust  in  him.  He  was  cut  out 
to  be  a  man-killer.  You  say  you  want  to  get  away: 
Lanning,  you  can't  do  it.  Because  you  can't  get  away 
from  yourself.  I'm  making  a  long  talk  to  you,  but  you're 
worth  it.  I  tell  you  I  read  your  mind.  You  plan  on 
riding  north  and  getting  out  of  the  mountain  desert  be- 
fore the  countryside  there  is  raised  against  you,  the  way 
it's  raised  to  the  south.  In  the  first  place,  I  don't  think 
you'll  get  away.  Hal  Dozier  is  on  your  trail,  and  he'll 
get  to  the  north  and  raise  the  whole  district  and  stop  you 
before  you  hit  the  towns.  You'll  have  to  go  back  to 
the  mountain  desert.  You'll  have  to  do  it  eventually, 
why  not  do  it  now?  Lanning,  if  I  had  you  at  my  back 
I  could  laugh  at  the  law  the  rest  of  our  lives !  Stay  with 
me.  I  can  tell  a  man  when  I  see  him.  I  saw  you  call 
Larry  la  Roche.  And  I've  never  wanted  a  man  the  way 
I  want  you.  Not  to  follow  me,  but  as  a  partner.  Shake 
and  say  you  will!" 

The  slender  hand  was  stretched  out  through  the  shad- 
ows, the  light  from  the  candle  flashed  on  it.  And  a 
power  outside  his  own  will  made  Andrew  move  his  hand 
to  meet  it.  He  stopped  the  gesture  with  a  violent  effort. 

The  swift  voice  of  the  outlaw,  with  a  fiber  of  earnest 
persuasion  in  it,  went  on:  'You  see  what  I  risk  to  get 
you.  Hal  Dozier  is  on  your  trail.  He's  the  only  man 
in  the  world  I'd  think  twice  about  before  I  met  him  face 
to  face.  But  if  I  join  to  you,  I'll  have  to  meet  him 
sooner  or  later.  Well,  Lanning,  I'll  take  that  risk.  I 


104  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

know  he's  more  devil  than  man  when  it  comes  to  gun 
play,  but  we'll  meet  him  together.  Give  me  your  hand !" 

There  was  a  riot  in  the  brain  of  Andrew  Lanning.  The 
words  of  the  outlaw  had  struck  something  in  him  that 
was  like  metal  chiming  on  metal.  Iron  dust?  That 
was  it!  The  call  of  one  blood  to  another,  and  he  real- 
ized the  truth  of  what  Allister  said.  If  he  touched  the 
hand  of  this  man,  there  would  be  a  bond  between  them 
which  only  death  could  break.  In  one  blinding  rush  he 
sensed  the  strength  and  the  faith  of  Allister. 

But  another  voice  was  at  his  ear,  and  he  saw  the  crys- 
tal purity  of  the  eyes  of  Anne  Withero,  as  she  had  stood 
for  that  moment  in  his  arms  in  her  room.  It  came  over 
him  with  a  chill  like  cold  moonlight;  it  came  over  him 
with  a  chill  like  the  bouquet  of  a  fine  wine. 

"Do  you  fear  me  ?"  he  had  whispered. 

"No." 

"Will  you  remember  me?" 

"Forever!" 

And  with  that  ghost  of  a  voice  in  his  ear  Andrew  Lan- 
ning groaned  to  the  man  beside  him :  "Partner,  I  know 
you're  nine-tenths  man,  and  I  thank  you  out  of  the  bot- 
tom of  my  heart.  But  there's  some  one  else  has  a  claim 
to  me — I  don't  belong  to  myself." 

There  was  a  breathless  pause.  Anger  contracted  the 
face  of  Henry  Allister ;  he  nodded  gravely. 

"It's  the  girl  you  went  back  to  see,"  he  said. 

"Yes." 

"Well,  then,  go  ahead  and  try  to  win  through.  Try 
to  get  out  of  the  desert  and  get  away  among  men.  I 
wish  you  luck.  But  if  you  fail,  remember  what  I've 
said.  Now,  or  ten  years  from  now,  what  I've  said  goes 
for  you.  Now  roll  over  and  sleep.  Good-by,  Lanning, 
or,  rather,  au  revoir!" 


CHAPTER  XV 

TOWARD   THE   FAR    HORIZON 

THE  excitement  kept  Andrew  awake  for  a  little  time, 
but  then  the  hum  of  the  wind,  the  roll  of  voices 
below  him,  and  the  weariness  of  the  long  ride  rushed  on 
him  like  a  wave  and  washed  him  out  into  an  ebb  of  sleep. 
When  he  wakened  the  aches  were  gone  from  his  limbs, 
and  his  mind  was  a  happy  blank.  Only  when  he  started 
up  from  his  blankets  and  rapped  his  head  against  the 
slanting  rafters  just  above  him,  he  was  brought  to  a  pain- 
ful realization  of  where  he  was.  He  turned,  scowling, 
and  the  first  thing  he  saw  was  a  piece  of  brown  wrap- 
ping paper  held  down  by  a  shoe  and  covered  with  a 
clumsy  scrawl. 

These  blankets  are  yours  and  the  slicker  along 
with  them  and  heres  wishin  you  luck  while  youre 
beatin  it  back  to  civlizashun.  your  friend 

JEFF  RANKIN. 

Andy  glanced  swiftly  about  the  room  and  saw  that 
the  other  bunks  had  been  removed.  He  swept  up  the 
blankets  and  went  down  the  stairs  to  the  first  floor.  It 
was  gutted  of  everything  except  the  crazy-legged  chairs 
and  the  boxes  which  had  served  as  tables.  The  house 
reeked  of  emptiness ;  broken  bottles,  a  twisted  tin  plate  in 
which  some  one  had  set  his  heel,  were  the  last  signs  of 
the  outlaws  of  Henry  Allister's  gang.  A  bundle  stood 
on  the  table  with  another  piece  of  the  wrapping  paper 
near  it.  The  name  of  Andrew  Lanning  was  on  the  out- 


106  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

side.     He  unfolded  the  sheet  and  read  in  a  precise, 
rather  feminine  writing : 

DEAR  LANNING  :  We  are,  in  a  manner,  sneaking 
off.  I've  already  said  good-by,  and  I  don't  want  to 
tempt  you  again.  Now  you're  by  yourself  and 
you've  got  your  own  way  to  fight.  The  boys  agree 
with  me.  We  all  want  to  see  you  make  good. 
We'll  all  be  sorry  if  you  come  back  to  us.  B<ut  once 
you're  here,  once  you've  found  out  that  it's  no  go 
trying  to  beat  back  to  good  society,  we'll  be  mighty 
happy  to  have  you  with  us.  In  the  meantime,  we 
want  to  do  our  bit  to  help  Andrew  Lanning  make 
up  for  his  bad  luck. 

For  my  part,  I've  put  a  chamois  sack  on  top  of  the 
leather  coat  with  the  fur  lining.  You'll  find  a  little 
money  in  that  purse.  While  you  slept  I  took  occa- 
sion to  run  through  your  pockets,  and  I  see  that  you 
aren't  very  wrell  supplied  with  cash.  Don't  be  fool- 
ish. Take  the  money  I  leave  you,  and,  when  you're 
back  on  your  feet,  I  know  that  you'll  repay  it  at  your 
own  leisure. 

And  here's  best  luck  to  you  and  the  girl. 

HENRY  ALLISTER. 

Andrew  lifted  the  chamois  sack  carelessly,  and  out  of 
its  mouth  tumbled  a  stream  of  gold.  One  by  one  he 
picked  up  the  pieces  and  replaced  them ;  he  hesitated,  and 
then  put  the  sack  in  his  pocket.  How  could  he  refuse  a 
gift  so  delicately  made? 

A  broken  kitchen  knife  had  been  thrust  through  a  bit 
of  the  paper  on  the  box.  He  read  this  next : 

Your  hoss  is  known.     So  Im  leavin  you  one  in 
,    place  of  the  pinto.     He  goes  good  and  he  dont  need 


TOWARD  THE  FAR  HORIZON  107 

no  spurrin  but  when  you  come  behind  him  keep 
watchin  your  step,    your  pal,    LARRY  LAX  ROCHE. 

Blankets  and  slicker,  money,  horse.  A  flask  of  whisky 
stood  on  another  slip  of  the  paper.  And  the  writing  on 
this  was  much  more  legible. 

Here's  a  friend  in  need.  When  you  come  to  a 
pinch,  use  it.  And  when  you  come  to  a  bigger  pinch 
send  word  to  your  friend,  SCOTTIE  MACDOUGAL. 

Andrew  picked  it  up,  set  it  down  again,  and  smiled. 
On  the  fur  coat  there  was  a  fifth  tag.     Not  one  of  the 
five,  then,  had  forgotten  him. 

Its  comin  on  cold,  partner.  Take  this  coat  and 
welcome.  When  the  snows  get  on  the  mountains 
if  you  aint  out  of  the  desert  put  on  this  coat  and 
think  of  your  partner,  JOE  CLUNE. 

P.  S. — I  seen  you  first,  and  I  have  first  call  on 
you  over  the  rest  of  these  gents  and  you  can  figure 
that  you  have  first  call  on  me.  J.  C. 

When  he  had  read  all  these  little  letters,  when  he  had 
gathered  his  loot  before  him,  Andrew  lifted  his  head  and 
could  have  burst  into  song.  A  tenderness  for  all  men 
was  surging  up  in  him.  This  much  thieves  and  mur- 
derers had  done  for  him;  what  would  the  good  men  of 
the  world  do?  How  would  they  meet  him  halfway? 

He  went  into  the  kitchen.  They  had  forgotten 
nothing.  There  was  a  quantity  of  "chuck,"  flour,  bacon, 
salt,  coffee,  a  frying  pan,  a  cup,  a  canteen.  And  this  in- 
scription was  on  it :  'To  Andy,  from  the  boys." 

It  brought  the  tears  into  his  eyes  and  a  lurrp  in  his 
throat.  He  cast  open  the  back  door,  and,  standing  in 
the  little  pasture,  he  saw  only  one  horse  remaining.  It 


io8  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

was  a  fine,  young  chestnut  gelding  with  a  Roman  nose 
and  long,  mulish  ears.  His  head  was  not  beautiful  to 
see  from  any  angle,  but  Andrew  saw  only  the  long,  pow- 
erful, sloping  shoulders,  the  long  neck,  burdened  by  no 
spare  flesh,  the  legs  fine-drawn  as  hammered  bronze,  and 
appearing  fully  as  strong.  Every  detail  of  the  body 
spelled  speed,  and  speed  meant  safety.  From  the  famous 
gray  stallion  of  Hal  Dozier  this  gelding  could  never 
escape,  Andrew  knew,  but  the  chestnut  could  undoubt- 
edly distance  any  posse  which  had  no  greater  speed  than 
the  pace  of  its  slowest  horse.  And  he  saw  with  pleas- 
ure, too,  the  deep  chest  and  the  belly  not  too  finely  drawn. 
That  chest  meant  staying  powers,  and  that  stomach 
meant  a  horse  which  would  not  be  "ganted"  in  a  few  days 
of  hard  work. 

What  wonder,  then,  that  Andrew  began  to  see  the 
world  through  a  bright  mist?  What  wonder  that  when 
he  had  finished  his  breakfast  he  sang  while  he  roped  the 
chestnut,  built  the  pack  behind  the  saddle,  and  filled  the 
saddlebags.  When  he  was  in  the  saddle,  the  gelding 
took  at  once  the  cattle  path  with  a  long  and  easy  canter 
that  did  the  heart  of  the  young  rider  good. 

He  gave  the  chestnut  a  mile  of  that  pace.  Then  he 
shook  him  out  into  a  small  gallop ;  then  he  sent  him  into 
a  headlong  racing  pace  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  That 
done,  he  reined  in  the  horse  to  a  lope  again  and,  lean- 
ing far  over,  he  listened.  The  breath  of  the  gelding  came 
in  deep  puffs,  but  it  whistled  down  as  cleanly  as  if  he  had 
just  had  a  canter  across  the  pasture.  Andrew  nodded 
in  satisfaction. 

With  his  head  cleared  by  sleep,  his  muscles  and  nerves 
relaxed,  his  heart  made  strong  by  the  gifts  of  the  out- 
laws, Andrew  began  to  plan  his  escape  with  more  calm 
deliberation  than  before. 


TOWARD  THE  FAR  HORIZON  109 

If  what  Scottie  had  heard  was  true,  and  he  had  been 
proclaimed  an  outlaw,  it  would  still  be  some  time  before 
the  State  could  rush  the  posters  from  the  printing  press 
and  distribute  them  through  the  countryside — the  printed 
posters  announcing  the  size  of  the  reward  and  contain- 
ing a  minute  description  of  Andrew  Lanning,  height, 
weight,  color  of  eyes  and  hair.  And  in  the  interval  be- 
fore those  posters  came  out,  Andy  must  break  out  of  the 
mountain  desert  and  lose  himself  among  the  towns  beyond 
the  hills.  There  he  could  start  to  work,  not  as  a  black- 
smith, but  as  a  carpenter,  and  drift  steadily  east  with  his 
new  profession  of  a  builder  until  he  was  lost  in  the  mul- 
titude of  some  great  city.  And  after  that  it  would  be 
a  long  road  indeed — but  after  that  there  was  the  back 
trail  to  Anne  Withero.  And  no  matter  how  long,  she 
had  promised  that  she  would  never  forget. 

The  first  goal,  then,  was  the  big  blue  cloud  on  the 
northern  horizon — a  good  week's  journey  ahead  of  him 
—the  Little  Canover  Mountains.  Among  the  foothills 
lay  the  cordon  of  small  towns  which  it  would  be  nis  chief 
difficulty  to  pass.  For,  if  the  printed  notices  describing 
him  were  circulated  among  them,  the  countryside  would 
be  up  in  arms,  prepared  to  intercept  his  flight.  Other- 
wise, there  would  be  nothing  but  telephoned  and  tele- 
graphed descriptions  of  him,  which,  at  best,  could  only 
come  to  the  ears  of  a  few,  and  these  few  would  be  neces- 
sarily put  out  by  the  slightest  difference  between  him  and 
the  description.  Such  a  vital  difference,  for  instance,  as 
the  fact  that  he  now  rode  a  chestnut,  while  the  instruc- 
tions called  for  a  man  on  a  pinto. 

Moreover,  it  was  by  no  means  certain  that  Hal  Dozier, 
great  trailer  though  he  was,  would  know  that  the  fugi- 
tive was  making  for  the  northern  mountains.  With  all 
these  things  in  mind,  in  spite  of  the  pessimism  of  Henry 


i  io  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

Allister,  Andrew  felt  that  he  had  far  more  than  a  fight- 
ing chance  to  break  out  of  the  mountain  desert  and  into 
the  comparative  safety  of  the  crowded  country  beyond. 
He  made  one  mistake  in  the  beginning.  He  pushed 
the  chestnut  too  hard  the  first  and  second  days,  because 
the  blue  cloud  of  the  Little  Canovers  did  not  grow  clearer, 
and,  when  the  atmosphere  thickened  toward  the  evening, 
they  entirely  disappeared;  so  that  on  the  third  day  he 
was  forced  to  give  the  gelding  his  head  and  go  at  a  jar- 
ring trot  most  of  the  day.  On  the  fourth  and  fifth  days, 
however,  he  had  the  reward  for  his  caution.  The  chest- 
nut's ribs  were  beginning  to  show  painfully,  but  he  kept 
doggedly  at  his  work  with  no  sign  of  faltering.  The 
sixth  day  brought  Andrew  Lanning  in  close  view  of  the 
lower  hills.  And  on  the  seventh  day  he  put  his  fortune 
boldly  to  the  touch  and  jogged  into  the  first  little  town 
before  him. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

IN   ROOM    SEVENTEEN 

IT  was  just  after  the  hot  hour  of  the  afternoon.  The 
shadows  from  the  hills  to  the  west  were  beginning 
to  drop  across  the  village;  people  who  had  kept  to  their 
houses  during  the  early  afternoon  now  appeared  on  their 
porches.  Small  boys  and  girls,  returning  from  school, 
were  beginning  to  play.  Their  mothers  were  at  the  open 
doors  exchanging  shouted  pieces  of  news  and  greetings, 
and  Andrew  picked  his  way  with  care  along  the  street. 
It  was  a  town  flung  down  in  the  throat  of  a  ravine  with- 
out care  or  pattern.  Houses  appeared  absurdly  on  sharp 
hilltops,  and  again  in  gullies,  where  the  winter  rains  must 
threaten  the  foundations,  at  least,  once  a  year.  There 
was  not  even  one  street,  but  rather  a  collection  of  strag- 
gling paths  which  met  about  a  sort  of  open  square,  on 
the  sides  of  which  were  the  stores  and  the  inevitable 
saloons  and  hotel. 

But  the  narrow  path  along  which  Andrew  rode  was 
a  gantlet  to  him.  Before  he  came  among  the  houses  he 
had  rolled  a  cigarette,  and  now  he  smoked  it  with  en- 
forced carelessness;  and,  though  his  heart  was  thudding 
at  his  ribs  painfully,  he  made  the  gelding  move  slowly. 
He  was  intent  on  appearing  at  all  costs  the  casual  trav- 
eler. And  he  could  not  know  how  completely  he  failed 
in  his  part.  For  the  shop  pallor,  which  years  of  work 
had  given  Andrew,  was  not  yet  gone.  His  was  one  of 
those  white  skins  which  never  satisfactorily  takes  on  a 
tan ;  and,  to  contrast  with  that  skin,  he  had  intense  black 


H2  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

eyes  which,  no  matter  how  casual  he  attempted  to  make 
their  glances,  burned  into  the  faces  of  those  he  passed. 

It  was  impossible  for  him  to  pass  any  man,  woman,  or 
child  without  searching  the  face.  For  all  he  knew,  the 
placards  might  be  already  out,  one  of  the  least  of  those 
he  passed  might  have  recognized  him.  He  noticed  that 
one  or  two  women,  in  their  front  door,  stopped  in  the 
midst  of  a  word  to  watch  him  curiously.  It  seemed  to 
Andrew  that  a  buzz  of  comment  and  warning  preceded 
him  and  closed  behind  him.  He  felt  sure  that  the  chil- 
dren stood  and  gaped  at  him  from  behind,  but  he  dared 
not  turn  in  his  saddle  to  look  back. 

At  all  costs  he  must  get  into  the  heart  of  this  place, 
hear  men  talk,  learn  if  those  placards  were  up,  and  dis- 
cover if  any  posses  were  out  to  search  the  road  for  the 
wanderer.  And  he  kept  on,  reining  in  the  gelding,  and 
probing  every  face  with  one  swift,  resistless  glance  that 
went  to  the  heart.  He  had  been  accustomed,  in  the  old 
days,  to  look  straight  before  him,  and  see  no  one.  He 
had  been  apt  to  pass  even  old  acquaintances  without  notic- 
ing them,  but  those  times  were  far  in  the  past.  Now  it 
was  a  matter  of  necessity.  He  dared  not  let  a  single 
one  go  by.  He  found  himself  literally  taking  the  brains 
and  hearts  of  men  into  the  palm  of  his  hand  and  weigh- 
ing them.  Yonder  old  man,  so  quiet,  with  the  bony  fin- 
gers clasped  around  the  bowl  of  his  corncob,  sitting  with 
blank  eyes  under  the  awning  by  the  watering  trough — 
that  would  be  an  ill  man  to  cross  in  a  pinch — that  hand 
would  be  steady  as  a  rock  on  the  barrel  of  a  gun.  But 
the  big,  square  man  with  the  big,  square  face  who  talked 
so  loudly  on  the  porch  of  yonder  store — there  was  a  bag 
of  wind  that  could  be  punctured  by  one  threat  and  turned 
into  a  figure  of  tallow  by  the  sight  of  a  gun.  Here  was 
a  pair  cf  honest  eyes  on  which  the  glance  of  Andrew 


IN  ROOM  SEVENTEEN  113 

caught  and  clung  a  moment.  Ah,  those  were  the  eyes 
which  he  must  fear  now !  For  they  belonged  to  the  side 
of  law  and  order,  and  the  owner  of  them  would  stamp 
him  underfoot  like  a  snake  in  the  house.  Yonder  was 
a  pair  of  small,  bright,  shifting  eyes  that  Andrew  was 
glad  to  see.  A  whispered  word,  a  coin  slipped  into  the 
palm  of  that  man,  and  he  might  be  made  useful. 

Andrew  went  on  with  his  lightning  summary  of  the 
things  he  passed.  Human  nature  had  been  a  blank  to 
him  before.  Now  he  found  it  a  crowded  book,  written 
in  letters,  sometimes  so  large  and  bold  that  the  facts 
stared  at  him,  and  sometimes  so  small,  an  important  thing 
was  scrawled  away  in  corners  which  he  almost  over- 
looked. 

But  he  came  to  the  main  square,  the  heart  of  the  town. 
It  was  quite  empty.  He  went  across  to  the  hotel,  tied 
the  gelding  at  the  rack,  and  sat  down  on  the  veranda. 
He  wanted  with  all  his  might  to  go  inside,  to  get  a  room, 
to  be  alone  and  away  from  this  battery  of  searching  eyes. 
But  he  dared  not.  He  must  mingle  with  these  people 
and  learn  what  they  knew. 

An  old  man  beside  him  began  talking — rambling  on — 
asking  questions.  Was  he  out  of  the  south?  Had  he 
come  by  Bill  Jowett's  place  by  any  chance?  Bill  Jowett 
was  an  old  friend.  His  wife  was  "took  bad"  a  few 
weeks  since  with  some  heart  trouble.  The  maundering 
voice  droned  on;  the  little,  dull  eyes  kept  wandering 
about  the  square,  and  Andrew  came  to  the  verge  of  a 
mad  explosion.  That  impulse  alarmed  him  and  taught 
him  the  guard  which  he  must  keep  over  his  tongue.  As 
it  was,  he  turned  and,  with  one  angry  glance,  silenced  the 
old  man.  Then,  alarmed  at  what  he  had  done,  he  went 
in  and  sought  the  bar. 

It  should  be  there,  if  anywhere,  the  poster  with  the 


H4  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

announcement  of  Andrew  Lanning's  outlawry  and  the 
picture  of  him.  What  picture  would  they  take?  The 
old  snapshot  of  the  year  before,  which  Jasper  had  taken  ? 
No  doubt  that  would  be  the  one.  But  much  as  he  yearned 
to  do  so,  he  dared  not  search  the  wall.  He  stood  up  to 
the  bar  and  faced  the  bartender.  The  latter  favored 
him  with  one  searching  glance,  and  then  pushed  across 
the  whisky  bottle. 

How  did  he  know  that  Andrew  wanted  whisky  ?  The 
bartender  knew  at  a  glance  he  was  not  confronted  with 
a  government  agent,  but  a  "regular  fellow"  of  the  West- 
ern country.  "Do  you  know  me?"  asked  Andrew  with 
surprise.  And  then  he  could  have  cursed  his  careless 
tongue. 

"I  know  you're  safe  and  need  a  drink/'  said  the  bar- 
tender, looking  at  Andrew  again.  Suddenly  he  grinned. 
"When  a  man's  been  dry  that  long  he  gets  a  hungry  look 
around  the  eyes  that  I  know.  Hit  her  hard,  boy." 

Andrew  brimmed  his  glass  and  tossed  off  the  drink. 
And  to  his  astonishment  there  was  none  of  the  shock- 
ing effect  of  his  first  drink  of  whisky.  It  stung  his 
throat,  it  burned  in  his  stomach  for  a  moment,  but  it  was 
like  a  drop  of  water  tossed  on  a  huge  blotter.  To  his 
tired  nerves  the  alcohol  was  a  mere  nothing.  Besides,  he 
dared  not  let  it  affect  him.  He  filled  a  second  glass,  push- 
ing across  the  bar  one  of  the  gold  pieces  of  Henry  Allister. 
Then,  turning  casually,  he  glanced  along  the  wall.  There 
were  other  notices  up — many  written  ones — but  not  a 
single  face  looked  back  at  him.  All  at  once  he  grew 
weak  with  relief.  But  in  the  meantime  he  must  talk  to 
this  fellow. 

"What's  the  news  ?" 

"What  kind  of  news?" 


IN-  ROOM  SEVENTEEN  115 

"Any  kind.  I've  been  talkin'  more  to  coyotes  than  to 
men  for  a  long  spell." 

Should  he  have  said  that  ?  Was  not  that  a  suspicious 
speech?  Did  it  not  expose  him  utterly? 

"Nothin'  to  talk  about  here  much  more  excitin'  than 
a  coyote's  yap.  Not  a  damn  thing.  Which  way  you 
come  from?" 

" South.  The  last  I  heard  of  excitin'  news  was  this 
stuff  about  Lanning,  the  outlaw." 

It  was  out,  and  he  was  glad  of  it.  He  had  taken  the 
bull  by  the  horns. 

"Lanning?  Lanning?  Never  heard  of  him.  Oh, 
yes,  the  gent  that  bumped  off  Bill  Dozier.  Between  you 
and  me,  they  won't  be  any  sobbin'  for  that.  Bill  had  it 
comin'.  He's  been  huntin'  trouble  too  long.  But 
they've  outlawed  Lanning,  have  they  ?" 

"That's  what  I  hear." 

But  sweet  beyond  words  had  been  this  speech  from 
the  bartender.  They  had  barely  heard  of  Andrew  Lan- 
ning in  this  town;  they  did  not  even  know  that  he  was 
outlawed.  Andrew  felt  hysterical  laughter  bubbling  in 
his  throat.  Now  for  one  long  sleep ;  then  he  would  make 
the  ride  across  the  mountains  and  into  safety.  That 
sleep  on  a  soft  bed,  he  felt,  would  give  him  the  strength 
of  a  Hercules. 

He  went  out  of  the  barroom,  put  the  gelding  away  in 
the  stables  behind  the  hotel,  and  got  a  room.  In  ten 
minutes,  pausing  only  to  tear  the  boots  from  his  feet,  he 
was  sound  asleep  under  the  very  gates  of  freedom. 

And  while  he  slept  the  gates  were  closing  and  barring 
the  way.  If  he  had  wakened  even  an  hour  sooner,  all 
would  have  been  well  and,  though  he  might  have  dusted 
the  skirts  of  danger,  they  could  never  have  blocked  his 
way.  But,  with  seven  days  of  exhausting  travel  behind 


n6  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

him,  he  slept  like  one  drugged,  the  clock  around  and 
more.  It  was  morning,  mid-morning,  when  he  wakened. 

Even  then  he  was  too  late,  but  he  wasted  priceless  min- 
utes using  the  luxury  of  hot  water  to  shave.  He  wasted 
more  priceless  minutes  eating  his  breakfast,  for  it  was 
delightful  beyond  words  to  have  food  served  to  him 
which  he  had  not  cooked  with  his  own  hands.  And  so, 
sauntering  out  onto  the  veranda  of  the  hotel,  he  saw  a 
compact  crowd  on  the  other  side  of  the  square  and  the 
crowd  focused  on  a  man  who  was  tacking  up  a  sign. 
Andrew,  still  sauntering,  joined  the  crowd,  and  looking 
over  their  heads,  he  found  his  own  face  staring  back  at 
him;  and,  under  the  picture  of  that  lean,  serious  face,  in 
huge  black  type,  five  thousand  dollars  reward  for  the 
capture,  dead  or  alive 

The  rest  of  the  notice  blurred  before  his  eyes. 

Some  one  was  speaking.  "You  made  a  quick  trip, 
Mr.  Dozier,  and  I  expect  if  you  send  word  up  to  Hallo- 
well  in  the  mountains  they  can " 

So  Hal  Dozier  had  brought  the  notices  himself. 

Andrew,  in  that  moment,  became  perfectly  calm.  And 
he  felt  that  tingling  nervousness  in  his  knees,  in  his 
elbows,  and  thrilling  into  the  tips  of  his  fingers. 

He  went  back  to  the  hotel,  and,  resting  one  elbow  on 
the  desk,  he  looked  calmly  into  the  face  of  the  clerk  and 
the  proprietor.  Instantly  he  saw  that  the  men  did  not 
suspect — as  yet. 

"I  hear  Mr.  Dozier's  here?"  he  asked. 

"Room  seventeen,"  said  the  clerk.  "Hold  on.  He's 
out  in  the  square  now." 

"  'S  all  right.     I'll  wait  in  his  room." 

He  went  to  room  seventeen.  The  door  was  unlocked. 
And  drawing  a  chair  into  the  farthest  corner,  Andrew  sat 
down,  rolled  a  cigarette,  drew  his  revolver,  and  waited. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

HEAVEN   AND    HELL 

HE  waited  an  eternity;  in  actual  time  it  was  exactly 
ten  minutes.  Then  a  cavalcade  tramped  down  the 
hall.  He  heard  their  voices,  and  Hal  Dozier  was  among 
them.  About  him  flowed  a  babble  of  questions  as  the 
men  struggled  for  the  honor  of  a  word  from  the  great 
man.  Perhaps  he  was  coming  to  his  room  to  form  the 
posse  and  issue  general  instructions  for  the  chase. 

The  door  opened.  Dozier  entered,  jerked  his  head 
squarely  to  one  side,  and  found  himself  gazing  into  the 
muzzle  of  a  revolver.  The  astonishment  and  the  swift 
hardening  of  his  face  had  begun  and  ended  in  a  frac- 
tion of  a  second. 

"It's  you,  eh  ?"  he  said,  still  holding  the  door. 

"Right,"  said  Andrew.     'Tm  here  for  a  little  ch 
about  this  Lanning  you're  after." 

Hal  Dozier  paused  another  heartbreaking  seconcffthen 
he  saw  that  caution  was  the  better  way.  "I'll  have  to 
shut  you  out  for  a  minute  or  two,  boys.  Go  down  to 
the  bar  and  have  a  few  on  me."  He  turned,  laughing 
and  waving  to  them,  and  Andrew's  heart  went  out  to 
such  consummate  coolness,  such  remarkable  nerve.  Then 
the  door  closed,  and  Dozier  turned  slowly  to  face  his 
hunted  man.  Their  glances  met,  held,  and  probed  each 
other  deeply,  and  each  of  them  recognized  the  man  in  the 
other.  Into  Andrew's  mind  came  back  the  words  of 
the  great  outlaw,  Allister:  "There's  one  man  I'd  think 
twice  about  meeting,  and  that " 


n8  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

"Sit  down,"  said  Andrew.  "And  you  can  take  off 
your  belt  if  you  want  to.  Easy!  That's  it.  Thank 
you." 

The  belt  and  the  guns  were  tossed  onto  the  bed,  and 
Hal  Dozier  sat  down.  He  reminded  Andrew  of  a  ter- 
rier, not  heavy,  but  all  compact  nerve  and  fighting  force 
— one  of  those  rare  men  who  are  both  solid  and  wiry. 

"I'll  not  frisk  you  for  another  gun,"  said  Andrew. 

"Thanks;  I  have  one,  but  I'll  let  it  lie." 

He  made  a  movement.  "If  you  don't  mind,"  said 
Andrew,  "I'd  rather  that  you  don't  reach  into  your  pock- 
ets. Use  my  tobacco  and  papers,  if  you  wish."  He 
tossed  them  onto  the  table,  and  Hal  Dozier  rolled  his 
smoke  in  silence.  Then  he  tilted  back  in  his  chair  a 
little.  His  hand  with  the  cigarette  was  as  steady  as  a 
vise,  and  Andrew,  shrugging  forward  his  own  ponder- 
ous shoulders,  dropped  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and 
trained  the  gun  full  on  his  companion. 

"I've  come  to  make  a  bargain,  Dozier/'  he  said. 

The  other  made  no  comment,  and  the  two  continued 
that  silent  struggle  of  the  eyes  that  was  making  Andrew's 
throat  dry  and  his  heart  leap. 

"Here's  the  bargain:  Drop  off  this  trail.  Let  the 
law  take  its  own  course  through  other  hands,  but  you 
give  me  your  word  to  keep  off  the  trail.  If  you'll  do  that 
I'll  leave  this  country  and  stay  away.  Except  for  one 
thing,  I'll  never  come  back  here.  You're  a  proud  man; 
you've  never  quit  a  trail  yet  before  the  end  of  it.  But 
this  time  I  only  ask  you  to  let  it  go  with  running  me  out 
of  the  country." 

"What's  the  one  thing  for  which  you'd  come  back?" 

"We're  talking  in  confidence?" 

"Certainly,  Lanning." 

That  small  thing  made  a  vast  deal  of  difference  to 


HEAVEN  AND  HELL  119 

Andrew.  For  ten  years  he  had  been  "Andy"  to  this 
man;  now  he  was  "Lanning."  For  the  first  time,  prob- 
ably, he  felt  the  meaning  of  Bill's  death  to  his  brother. 

"I'll  come  back — once — because  of  a  girl." 

He  saw  the  eyes  of  Dozier  widen  and  then  contract 
again.  "You're  not  exactly  what  I  expected  to  find/' 
he  said.  "But  go  on.  If  I  don't  take  the  bargain  you 
pull  that  trigger?" 

"Exactly." 

"H'm!  You  may  have  heard  the  voices  of  the  men 
who  came  up  the  hall  with  me  ?" 

"Yes." 

"The  moment  a  report  of  a  gun  is  heard  they'll  swarm 
up  to  this  room  and  get  you." 

"They  made  too  much  noise.  Barking  dogs  don't 
bite.  Besides,  the  moment  I've  dropped  you  I  go  out 
that  window." 

"You'll  break  a  leg  with  the  drop." 

"Get  up  and  stand  at  that  window  and  look  down. 
No,  keep  both  your  hands  at  your  sides,  if  you  please. 
That's  better."  g 

Hal  Dozier  went  obediently  to  the  window  and  looked 
down  to  the  saddled  horse  beneath.  "You'd  jump  for 
that  saddle  and  ride  like  the  wind." 

"Right  again,  Dozier." 

"Suppose  you  missed  the  saddle?" 

Andrew  smiled,  but  his  smile  gradually  went  out  be- 
fore a  gradual  wrinkling  around  the  eyes  of  the  other. 

"It's  a  good  bluff,  Lanning,"  said  the  other.  "I'll 
tell  you  what,  if  you  were  what  I  expected  you  to  be,  a 
hysterical  kid,  who  had  a  bit  of  bad  luck  and  good  rolled 
together,  I'd  take  that  offer.  But  you're  different — 
you're  a  man.  All  in  all,  Lanning,  I  think  you're  about 
as  much  of  a  man  as  I've  ever  crossed  before.  No,  you 


120  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

won't  pull  that  trigger,  because  there  isn't  one  deliberate 
murder  packed  away  in  your  system.  It's  a  good  bluff, 
as  I  said  before,  and  I  admire  the  way  you  worked  it. 
But  it  won't  do.  I  call  it.  I  won't  leave  your  trail, 
Lanning.  Now  pull  your  trigger." 

He  smiled  straight  into  the  eye  of  the  younger  man. 
A  flush  jumped  into  the  cheeks  of  Andrew,  and,  fading, 
left  him  by  contrast  paler  than  ever.  "You  were  one- 
quarter  of  an  inch  from  death,  Dozier,"  he  replied,  "and 
I  was  the  same  distance  from  being  a  yellow  cur." 

"Lanning,  with  men  like  you — and  like  myself,  I  hope 
• — there's  no  question  of  distance.  It's  either  a  miss  or 
a  hit.  Here's  a  better  proposition :  Let  me  put  my  belt 
on  again.  Then  put  your  own  gun  back  in  the  holster. 
We'll  turn  and  face  the  wall.  And  when  the  clock  down- 
stairs strikes  ten — that'll  be  within  a  few  minutes — we'll 
turn  and  blaze  at  the  first  sound." 

He  watched  his  companion  eagerly,  and  he  saw  the 
face  of  Andrew  work.  "I  can't  do  it,  Dozier,"  said 
Andrew.  "I'd  like  to.  But  I  can't!" 

"Why  not?"  The  voice  of  Hal  Dozier  was  sharp 
with  a  new  suspicion.  "You  say  that  the  rest  of  these 
fellows  are  barking  dogs,  and  that  you  don't  fear  'em. 
Get  me  out  of  the  way,  and  you're  free  to  get  across  the 
mountains,  and,  once  there,  your  trail  will  never  be  found. 
I  know  that;  every  one  knows  that.  That's  why  I  hit 
up  here  after  you." 

"I'll  tell  you  why,"  said  Andrew  slowly.  "I've  got 
the  blood  of  one  man  on  my  hands  already,  but,  so  help 
me  God,  I'm  not  going  to  have  another  stain.  ,1  had 
to  shoot  once,  because  I  was  hounded  into  it.  And,  if 
this  thing  keeps  on,  I'm  going  to  shoot  again — and  again. 
But  as  long  as  I  can  I'm  fighting  to  keep  clean,  you  un- 
derstand?" 


HEAVEN  AND  HELL  121 

His  voice  became  thin  and  rose  as  he  spoke ;  his  breath 
was  a  series  of  gasps,  and  Hal  Dozier  changed  color. 

"I  think/'  said  Andrew,  regaining  his  self-control, 
"that  Fd  kill  you.  I  think  I'm  just  a  split  second  surer 
and  faster  than  you  are  with  a  gun.  But  don't  you  see, 
Dozier?" 

He  cast  out  his  left  hand,  but  his  right  hand  held  the 
revolver  like  a  rock. 

" Don't  you  see  ?  I've  got  the  taint  in  me.  I've  killed 
my  man.  If  I  kill  another  I'll  go  bad.  I  know  it.  Life 
will  mean  nothing  to  me.  I  can  feel  it  in  me." 

His  voice  fell  and  became  deeper. 

"Dozier,  give  me  my  chance.  It's  up  to  you.  Stand 
aside  now,  and  I'll  get  across  those  mountains  and  be- 
come a  decent  man.  Keep  me  here,  and  I'll  be  a  killer. 
I  know  it;  you  know  it.  Dozier,  you  can  make  me  or 
break  me.  You  can  make  me  a  good  citizen,  or  you  can 
turn  me  into  something  that  people  will  remember  around 
here  for  a  long  time.  Why  are  you  after  me?  Be- 
cause your  brother  was  killed  by  me.  Dozier,  think  of 
your  brother  and  then  look  at  me.  Was  his  life  worth 
my  life?  He  was  your  brother,  and  that's  the  reason  I 
say  it.  You're  a  cool-headed  man.  You  knew  him,  and 
you  knew  what  he  was  worth.  A  fighter,  he  loved  fight- 
ing, and  he  picked  his  chances  for  it.  His  killings  were 
as  long  as  the  worst  bad  man  that  ever  stepped,  except 
that  he  had  the  law  behind  him.  When  he  got  on  my 
trail  he  knew  that  I  was  just  a  scared  kid  who  thought 
he'd  killed  a  man.  But  he  ran  me  down  with  his  gang. 
\Vhy  didn't  he  give  me  a  chance?  Why  didn't  he  let 
me  run  until  I  found  out  that  I  hadn't  killed  Buck  Heath  ? 
Then  he  knew,  and  you  know,  that  I'd  have  come  back. 
But  he  wouldn't  give  me  the  chance.  He  ran  me  into 
the  ground,  and  I  shot  him  down.  And  that  minute  he 


122  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

turned  me  from  a  scared  kid  into  an  outlaw — a  killer. 
Tell  me,  man  to  man,  Dozier,  if  Bill  hasn't  already  done 
me  more  wrong  than  I've  done  him!" 

As  he  finished  that  strange  appeal  he  noted  that  the 
famous  fighter  was  white  about  the  mouth  and  shaken. 
He  added  with  a  burst  of  appeal:  "Dozier,  if  it's  pride 
that  holds  you  back,  look  at  me!  I'm  not  proud.  I'll 
get  down  there  on  my  knees.  I'll  beg  you  to  let  me  go 
and  give  me  a  chance.  You  can  open  the  door  and  let 
the  others  look  in  at  me  while  I'm  beggin'.  That's  how 
little  pride  I  have.  Do  you  think  I'd  let  shame  keep  me 
out  of  heaven?" 

For  heaven  was  the  girl,  and  Dozier,  looking  into  that 
white  face  and  those  brilliant  black  eyes,  knew  it.  If  he 
had  been  shaken  before,  he  was  sunk  in  gloom  now. 

And  then  there  was  a  last  appeal,  a  last  agony  of  appeal 
from  Andrew:  "Hal,  you  know  I'm  straight.  You 
know  I'm  worth  a  chance." 

The  older  man  lifted  his  head  at  last. 

"Pride  won't  keep  you  out  of  heaven,  Andy,  but  pride 
will  keep  me  out.  And  pride  will  send  me  to  perdition. 
Andy,  I  can't  leave  the  trail." 

At  that  sentence  every  muscle  of  Andrew's  body  re- 
laxed, and  he  sat  like  one  in  a  state  of  collapse,  except 
that  the  right  hand  and  the  gun  in  it  were  steady  as  rocks. 

"Here's  something  between  you  and  me  that  I'd  swear 
I  never  said  if  I  was  called  in  a  court,"  went  on  Hal 
Dozier  in  a  solemn  murmur.  ''Til  tell  you  that  I  know 
Bill  was  no  good.  I've  known  it  for  years,  and  I've 
told  him  so.  It's  Bill  that  bled  me,  and  bled  me  until 
I've  had  to  soak  a  mortgage  on  the  ranch.  It's  Bill  that's 
spent  the  money  on  his  cussed  booze  and  gambling. 
Until  now  there's  a  man  that  can  squeeze  and  ruin  me 
any  day,  and  that's  Merchant.  He  sent  me  hot  along 


HEAVEN  AND  HELL  123 

this  trail.  He  sent  me,  but  my  pride  sent  me  also.  No, 
son,  I  wasn't  bought  altogether.  And  if  I'd  known  as 
much  about  you  then  as  I  know  now,  I'd  never  have 
started  to  hound  you.  But  now  I've  started.  Every- 
body in  the  mountains,  every  puncher  on  the  range  knows 
that  Hal  Dozier  has  started  on  a  new  trail,  and  every 
man  of  them  knows  that  I've  never  failed  before.  Andy, 
I  can't  give  it  up.  You  see,  I've  got  no  shame  before 
you.  I  tell  you  the  straight  of  it.  I  tell  you  that  I'm  a 
bought  man.  But  I  can't  leave  this  trail  to  go  back  and 
face  the  boys.  If  one  of  them  was  to  shake  his  head 
and  say  on  the  side  that  I'm  no  longer  the  man  I  used 
to  be,  I'd  shoot  him  dead  as  sure  as  there's  a  reckoning 
that  I'm  bound  for.  It  isn't  you,  Andy;  it's  my  reputa- 
tion that  makes  me  go  on." 

He  stopped,  and  the  two  men  looked  sadly  at  each 
other. 

"Andy,  boy,"  said  Hal  Dozier,  "I've  no  more  bad 
feeling  toward  you  than  if  you  was  my  own  boy."  Then 
he  added  with  a  little  ring  to  his  voice :  "But  I'm  going 
to  stay  on  your  trail  till  I  kill  you.  You  write  that  down 
in  red." 

And  the  outlaw  dropped  his  gun  suddenly  into  the 
holster. 

"That  ends  it,  then,"  he  said  slowly.  "I  don't  feel 
the  way  you  do,  Hal.  I'm  beginning  to  hate  you,  be- 
cause you  stand  between  me  and  the  girl.  I'm  as  frank 
as  you  are,  you  see.  And  the  next  time  we  meet  we 
won't  sit  down  and  chin  friendly  like.  We'll  let  our 
guns  do  our  talking  for  us.  And,  first  of  all,  I'm  going 
to  get  across  these  mountains,  Hal,  in  spite  of  you  and 
your  friends." 

"You  can't  do  it,  Andy.     Try  it.     I've  sent  the  word 


124  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

up.  The  whole  mountains  will  be  alive  watchin'  for  you. 
Every  trail  will  be  alive  with  guns/' 

But  Andrew  stood  up,  and,  using  always  his  left  hand 
while  the  right  arm  hung  with  apparent  carelessness  at 
his  side,  he  arranged  his  hat  so  that  it  came  forward  at 
a  jaunty  angle,  and  then  hitched  his  belt  around  so  that 
the  holster  hung  a  little  more  to  the  rear.  The  position 
for  a  gun  when  one  is  sitting  is  quite  different  from  the 
proper  position  when  one  is  standing.  All  these  things 
Uncle  Jasper  had  taught  Andrew  long  and  long  before. 
He  was  remembering  them  in  chunks. 

"Give  me  three  minutes  to  get  my  saddle  on  my  horse 
and  out  of  town/'  said  Andrew.  "Is  that  fair?" 

"Considering  that  you  could  have  filled  me  full  of  lead 
here,"  said  Hal  Dozier,  with  a  wry  smile,  "I  think  that's 
fair  enough/' 

"Are  you  riding  Gray  Peter?"  asked  Andrew  from  the 
door,  to  which  he  backed  with  instinctive  caution. 

"Of  course/' 

"He'll  be  safe,  Hal.  No  matter  how  you  press  me, 
I'll  never  take  a  bead  on  that  horse.  Why,  God  bless 
him,  I've  ridden  him  myself!" 

"You  didn't  have  to  tell  me  that,"  said  Hal.  "Skunks 
that  shoot  hosses  don't  look  down  their  rifles  with  your 
kind  of  eyes,  Andy." 

There  was  a  moisture  in  the  eyes  of  Hal  Dozier  as  the 
door  closed,  and  Andrew's  quick,  light  step  went  down 
the  hall. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

LIKE   A    RED    FLASH 

AS  Andrew  went  down  the  stairs  and  through  the 
entrance  hall  he  noticed  it  was  filled  with  armed 
men.  He  saw  half  a  dozen  looking  over  the  working 
parts  of  their  rifles  in  the  corners  of  the  room.  At  the 
door  he  paused  for  the  least  fraction  of  a  second,  and 
during  that  breathing  space  he  had  seen  every  face  in 
the  room.  Then  he  walked  carelessly  across  to  the  desk 
and  asked  for  his  bill. 

Some  one,  as  he  crossed  the  room,  whirled  to  follow 
him  with  a  glance.  When  Andy  paid  his  bill  he  heard, 

for  his  ears  were  sharpened,  "I  thought  for  a  minute 

But  it  does  look  like  him !" 

"Aw,  Mike,  I  seen  that  gent  in  the  barroom  the  other 
day.  Besides,  he's  just  a  kid." 

"So's  this  Lanning.  I'm  going  out  to  look  at  the 
poster  again.  You  hold  this  gent  here." 

"All  right.  I'll  talk  to  him  while  you're  gone.  But  be 
quick.  I'll  be  holdin'  a  laugh  for  you,  Mike." 

Andrew  paid  his  bill,  but  as  he  reached  the  door  a  short 
man  with  legs  bowed  by  a  life  in  the  saddle  waddled  out 
to  him  and  said:  "Just  a  minute,  partner.  Are  you 
one  of  us?" 

"One  of  who?"  asked  Andrew. 

"One  of  the  posse  Hal  is  getting  together?  Well, 
come  to  think  of  it,  I  guess  you're  a  stranger  around 
here,  ain't  you?" 


126  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

"Me?"  asked  Andrew.  "Why,  I've  just  been  talking 
to  Hal." 

"About  young  Lanning?" 

"Yes." 

"By  the  way,  if  you're  out  of  Hal's  country,  maybe  you 
know  Lanning,  too?" 

"Sure.     I've  stood  as  close  to  him  as  I  am  to  you." 

"You  don't  say  so!  What  sort  of  a  looking  fellow 
is  he?" 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you,"  said  Andrew,  and  he  smiled  in  an 
embarrassed  manner.  "They  say  he's  a  ringer  for  me. 
Not  much  of  a  compliment,  is  it  ?" 

The  other  gasped,  and  then  laughed  heartily.  "No, 
it  ain't,  at  that,"  he  replied.  "Say,  I  got  a  pal  that 
wants  to  talk  to  you.  Sort  of  a  job  on  him,  at  that." 

"I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Andy  calmly.  "Take  him  in 
to  the  bar,  and  I'll  come  in  and  have  a  drink  with  him  and 
you  in  about  two  minutes.  S'long." 

He  was  gone  through  the  door  while  the  other  half 
reached  a  hand  toward  him.  But  that  was  all. 

In  the  stables  he  had  the  saddle  on  the  chestnut  in 
twenty  seconds,  and  brought  him  to  the  watering  trough 
before  the  barroom. 

He  found  his  short,  bow-legged  friend  in  the  barroom 
in  the  midst  of  excited  talk  with  a  big,  blond  man.  He 
looked  a  German,  with  his  parted  beard  and  his  impos- 
ing front  and  he  had  the  stern  blue  eye  of  a  fighter.  "Is 
this  your  friend?"  asked  Andrew,  and  walked  straight 
up  to  them.  He  watched  the  eyes  of  the  big  man  ex- 
pand and  then  narrow;  his  hand  even  fumbled,  at  his 
hip,  but  then  he  shook  his  head.  He  was  too  bewildered 
to  act 

"I  was  just  telling  Mike,"  said  the  short  man,  "that 
you  told  me  yourself  folks  think  you're  a  ringer  for 


LIKE  A  RED  FLASH  127 

Lanning.  As  a  matter  of  fact — get  in  on  this — Mike 
thought  you  was  Lanning  himself."  He  began  to  laugh 
heartily. 

"Can't  you  picture  Lanning  hangin'  around  the  same 
hotel  where  Hal  Dozier  is?'' 

"Well,  let's  drink,"  smiled  Andy.  While  the  others 
were  poising  their  glasses  he  took  a  stub  of  a  pencil  out 
of  his  vest  pocket  and  scribbled  idly  on  the  top  of  the 
bar.  They  drank,  and  Andy  wandered  slowly  toward 
the  door,  waving  his  hand  to  the  others.  But  the  short 
man  was  busy  trying  to  decipher  the  scribbled  writing 
on  the  bar. 

"It's  words,  Mike,"  he  informed  his  companion.  "But 
I  can't  get  the  light  right  for  reading  it." 

At  the  same  time  there  was  a  hubbub  and  an  uproar 
from  the  upper  part  of  the  hotel.  A  dozen  men  were 
shouting  from  the  lobby.  And  the  men  in  the  barroom 
started  crowding  toward  the  door. 

"Wait,"  cried  the  short  man.  "Mike,  listen  to  what 
he  wrote:  'Dear  Mike,  in  a  pinch  always  believe  what 
your  eyes  tell  you.  Lanning/ 

"Mike,  it  was  him!" 

But  Mike,  with  a  roar,  was  already  rushing  for  the 
street.  Others  were  before  him ;  a  fighting  mass  jammed 
its  way  into  the  open,  and  there,  in  the  middle  of  the 
square,  sat  Hal  Dozier  on  his  gray  stallion.  He  was 
giving  orders  in  a  voice  that  rang  above  the  crowd,  and 
made  voices  hush  in  whispers  as  they  heard  him.  Under 
his  direction  the  crowd  split  into  groups  of  four  and  five 
and  six  and  rode  at  full  speed  in  three  directions  out  of 
the  town.  In  the  meantime  there  were  two  trusted 
friends  of  Hal  Dozier  busy  at  telephones  in  the  hotel. 
They  were  calling  little  towns  among  the  mountains. 


128  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

The  red  alarm  was  spreading  like  wildfire,  and  faster 
than  the  fastest  horse  could  gallop. 

But  Andrew,  with  the  chestnut  running  like  a  red 
flash  beneath  him,  shot  down  the  tangle  of  paths  on  the 
same  course  as  that  by  which  he  entered. 

He  would  have  been  interested  had  he  heard  the  quiet 
remark  of  the  very  old  man  with  the  bony  hands,  who 
sat  under  the  awning  by  the  watering  trough  of  the  store. 

"I  knew  that  young  gent  was  coming  to  town  to  raise 
blazes  and  there  he  goes  with  blazes  roarin'  after  him." 

As  the  first  rush  of  the  pursuers  came  foaming  around 
the  nearest  corner,  the  storekeeper  darted  out. 

"What's  up?"  he  asked. 

"Nothin',"  said  the  very  old  man,  "but  times  is  pickin' 
up.  Oh,  times  is  pickin'  up  amazin' !" 

In  the  meantime  the  first  squadron  went  down  the 
lanes,  five  men  like  five  thunderbolts,  but  they  took  care 
not  to  exceed  the  speed  of  the  slowest  of  their  comrades, 
for  it  was  suicide  obviously  to  get  into  a  lonely  lead  be- 
hind a  man  who  could  drop  his  man  at  five  hundred  yards 
from  horseback — from  running  horseback,  the  story 
had  it. 

However,  these  five  were  only  one  unit  among  many. 
Two  more  were  pushing  up  the  ravine,  making  good 
time  into  the  heart  of  the  mountains;  others  were  angling 
out  to  the  right  and  left,  always  on  the  lookout,  and  al- 
ways warning  man,  woman,  and  child  to  take  up  the 
alarm  and  spread  it.  And  not  only  were  the  telephone 
lines  working  busily,  but  that  strange  and  swift  mes- 
senger, rumor,  was  instantly  at  work,  buzzing  in  strange 
places.  It  stopped  the  cow-puncher  on  the  range.  It 
stopped  the  plowman  with  his  team,  and  made  him  think 
what  one  slug  of  lead  would  mean  to  his  farm;  it  set  the 
boys  in  school  drawing  up  schedules  of  how  they  would 


LIKE  A  RED  FLASH  129 

spend  five  thousand  dollars.  And  not  five  thousand 
alone.  There  was  talk  that,  besides  the  State,  rich  John 
Merchant,  in  the  far  south  near  Martindale,  would  con- 
tribute generously.  The  cattlemen,  the  poor  fanners  of 
the  hills,  every  man  and  child  in  that  region  of  mountains, 
was  ready  to  look  and  report,  or  look  and  shoot. 

But  Andrew  Lanning,  though  he  guessed  at  all  this  and 
more,  kept  straight  on  his  course.  He  did  not,  indeed, 
cut  straight  into  the  heart  of  the  mountains,  for  he  knew 
that  the  districts  just  above  would  be  thoroughly  alarmed. 
But  he  had  a  very  good  reason  for  making  his  strike  for 
liberty  in  this  direction,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the 
mountains  were  lower  and  easier  on  either  side. 

Buried  away  in  the  mountains,  one  stiff  day's  march, 
was  a  trapper  whom  Uncle  Jasper  had  once  befriended. 
That  was  many  a  day  long  since,  but  Uncle  Jasper  had 
saved  the  man's  life,  and  he  had  often  told  Andrew  that, 
sooner  or  later,  he  must  come  to  that  trapper's  cabin  to 
talk  of  the  old  times. 

He  was  bound  there  now.  For,  if  he  could  get  shelter 
for  three  days,  the  hue  and  cry  would  subside.  When 
the  mountaineers  were  certain  that  he  must  have  gone 
past  them  to  other  places  and  slipped  through  their  greedy 
fingers  he  could  ride  on  in  comparative  safety.  It  was 
an  excellent  plan.  It  gave  Andrew  such  a  sense  of  safety, 
as  he  trotted  the  chestnut  up  a  steep  grade,  that  he  did  not 
hear  another  horse,  coming  in  the  opposite  direction,  un- 
til the  latter  was  almost  upon  him.  Then,  coming  about 
a  sharp  shoulder  of  the  hill,  he  almost  ran  upon  a  bare- 
legged boy,  who  rode  without  saddle  upon  the  back  of  a 
bay  mare.  The  mare  leaped  catlike  to  one  side,  and  her 
little  rider  clung  like  a  piece  of  her  hide.  "You  might 
holler,  comin'  around  a  turn,"  shrilled  the  boy.  And  he 
brought  the  mare  to  a  halt  by  jerking  the  rope  around 


130  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

her  neck.  He  had  no  other  means  of  guiding  her,  no 
sign  of  a  bridle. 

But  Andrew  looked  with  hungry  eyes.  He  'knew 
something  of  horses,  and  this  bay  fitted  into  his  dreams 
of  an  ideal  perfectly.  She  was  beautiful,  quite  heavily 
built  in  the  body,  with  a  great  spread  of  breast  that  surely 
told  of  an  honest  heart  beneath  a  glorious  head,  legs  that 
fairly  shouted  to  Andrew  of  good  blood,  and,  above  all, 
she  had  that  indescribable  thing  which  is  to  a  horse  what 
personality  is  to  a  man.  She  did  not  win  admiration, 
she  commanded  it.  And  she  stood  alert  at  the  side  of  the 
road,  looking  at  Andrew  like  a  queen.  Horse  stealing  is 
the  last  crime  and  the  cardinal  sin  in  the  mountain  desert, 
but  Andrew  felt  the  moment  he  saw  her  that  she  must  be 
his.  At  least  he,  would  first  try  to  buy  her  honorably. 

"Son,"  he  said  to  the  urchin,  "how  much  for  that 
horse  1" 

"Why,"  said  the  boy,  "anything  you'll  give." 

"Don't  laugh  at  me,"  said  Andrew  sternly.  "I  like 
her  looks  and  I'll  buy  her.  I'll  trade  this  chestnut — and 
he's  a  fine  traveler — with  a  good  price  to  boot.  If  your 
father  lives  up  the  road  and  not  down,  turn  back  with 
me  and  I'll  see  if  I  can't  make  a  trade." 

"You  don't  have  to  see  him,"  said  the  boy.  "I  can 
tell  you  that  he'll  sell  her.  You  throw  in  the  chestnut 
and  you  won't  have  to  give  any  boot."  And  he  grinned. 

"But  there's  the  house."  He  pointed  across  the  ra- 
vine at  a  little  green-roofed  shack  buried  in  the  rocks. 
"You  can  come  over  if  you  want  to." 

"Is  there  something  wrong  with  her  ?" 

"Nothin'  much." 

"She  looks  sound.     She  stands-  well." 

"Sure!"  Pop  says  she's  the  best  hoss  that  ever  run 
in  these  parts.  And  he  knows,  I'll  tell  a  man !" 


LIKE  A  RED  FLASH  131 

"Son,  I've  got  to  have  that  horse  I" 

"She's  yours." 

"How  much  ?" 

"Mister,"  said  the  boy  suddenly,  "I  know  how  you  feel. 
Lots  feel  the  same  way.  You  want  her  bad,  but  she 
ain't  worth  her  feed.  A  skunk  put  a  bur  under  the  saddle 
when  she  was  bein'  broke,  and  since  then  anybody  can 
ride  her  bareback,  but  nothin*  in  the  mountains  can  sit 
a  saddle  on  her." 

Andrew  cast  one  more  long,  sad  look  at  the  horse. 
He  had  never  seen  a  horse  that  went  so  straight  to  his 
heart,  and  then  he  straightened  the  chestnut  up  the  road 
and  went  ahead. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

SANCTUARY  IN   THE   HILLS 

HE  had  to  be  guided  by  what  Uncle  Jasper  had  often 
described — a  mountain  whose  crest  was  split  like 
the  crown  of  a  hat  divided  sharply  by  a  knife,  and  the 
twin  peaks  were  like  the  ears  of  a  mule,  except  that  they 
came  together  at  the  base.  By  the  position  of  those  dis- 
tant summits  he  knew  that  he  was  in  the  ravine  leading 
to  the  cabin  of  Hank  Rainer,  the  trapper. 

Presently  the  sun  flashed  on  a  white  cliff,  a  definite 
landmark  by  which  Uncle  Jasper  had  directed  him,  so 
Andrew  turned  out  of  his  path  on  the  eastern  side  of 
the  gully  and  rode  across  the  ravine.  The  slope  was 
steep  on  either  side,  covered  with  rocks,  thick  with  slides 
of  loose  pebbles  and  sand.  Altogether  it  was  by  no 
means  favorable  territory  for  an  average  horse,  and, 
though  Andrew  felt  that  the  cat-footed  bay  mare  might 
have  kept  a  fair  rate  of  speed,  even  through  these  rocks 
and  bushes,  his  own  horse,  accustomed  to  a  more  open 
country,  was  continually  at  fault.  He  did  not  like  his 
work,  and  kept  tossing  his  ugly  head  and  champing  the 
bit  as  they  went  down  to  the  river  bottom. 

It  was  not  a  real  river,  but  only  an  angry  creek  that 
went  fuming  and  crashing  through  the  canon  with  a  voice 
as  loud  as  some  great  stream.  Andrew  had  to  watch 
with  care  for  a  ford,  for  though  the  bed  was  not  deep- 
the  water  ran  like  a  rifle  bullet  over  smooth  places  and 
was  torn  to  a  white  froth  when  it  struck  projecting  rocks. 
He  found,  at  length,  a  place  where  it  was  backed  up  into 


SANCTUARY  IN  THE  HILLS  133 

a  shallow  pool,  and  here  he  rode  across,  hardly  wetting 
the  belly  of  the  gelding.  Then  up  the  far  slope  he  was 
lost  at  once  in  a  host  of  trees.  They  cut  him  off  from 
his  landmark,  the  white  cliff,  but  he  kept  on  with  a  feel 
for  the  right  direction,  until  he  came  to  a  sudden  clear- 
ing, and  in  the  clearing  was  a  cabin.  It  was  apparently 
just  a  one-room  shanty  with  a  shed  leaning  against  it 
from  the  rear.  No  doubt  the  shed  was  for  the  trapper's 
horse.  Also,  an  ancient  buckboard  stood  with  sagging 
wheels  near  the  cabin,  and,  if  this  were  indeed  the  house 
of  Hank  Rainer,  he  used  that  wagon  to  carry  his  pelts 
to  town.  But  Andrew  was  amazed  at  the  sight  of  the 
buckboard.  He  did  not  see  how  it  could  be  used  in  the 
first  place,  and  in  the  second  place  he  wondered  how  it 
was  ever  drawn  to  that  place  through  the  forest  and 
over  the  rocks. 

He  had  no  time  for  further  thought.  In  the  open 
door  of  the  cabin  appeared  a  man  so  huge  that  he  had  to 
bend  his  head  to  look  out,  and  Andrew's  heart  fell.  It 
was  not  the  slender,  rawboned  youth  of  whom  Uncle 
Jasper  had  told  him,  but  a  hulking  giant.  And  then  he 
remembered  that  twenty  years  had  passed  since  Uncle 
Jasper  rode  that  way,  and  in  twenty  years  the  gaunt  body 
might  have  filled  out,  the  shock  of  bright-red  hair  of 
which  Jasper  spoke  might  well  have  been  the  original  of 
the  red  flood  which  now  covered  the  face  and  throat  of 
the  big  man.  Where  his  hat  covered  it  from  the  sun  the 
hair  fairly  flamed;  where  the  beard  and  side  whiskers 
had  been  reached  it  was  a  faded  bronze.  It  was  a  mag- 
nificent beard,  sweeping  across  the  chest  of  the  man,  and 
Andrew  wondered  at  it. 

"Hello!"  called  the  trapper.  "Are  you  one  of  the 
boys  on  the  trail?  Well,  I  ain't  seen  anything.  Been 
about  six  others  here  already." 


134  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

The  blood  leaped  in  Andrew,  and  then  ran  coldly  back 
to  his  heart.  Could  they  have  outridden  the  gelding  to 
such  an  extent  as  that  ? 

"From  Tomo?"  he  asked. 

"Tomo?  No.  They  come  down  from  Gunter  City, 
up  yonder,  and  Twin  Falls." 

And  Andrew  understood.  Well  indeed  had  Hal  Dozier 
fulfilled  his  threat  of  rousing  the  mountains  against  this 
quarry.  He  glanced  westward.  It  was  yet  an  hour 
lacking  of  sundown,  but  since  mid-morning  Dozier  had 
been  able  to  send  his  messages  so  far  and  so  wide.  An- 
drew set  his  teeth.  What  did  cunning  of  head  and  speed 
of  horse  count  against  the  law  when  the  law  had  electricity 
for  its  agent  ? 

"Well,"  said  Andrew,  slipping  from  his  saddle,  "if  he 
hasn't  been  by  this  way  I  may  as  well  stay  over  for  the 
night.  If  they've  hunted  the  woods  around  here  all  day, 
no  use  in  me  doing  it  by  night.  Can  you  put  me  up?" 

"Can  I  put  you  up?  I'll  tell  a  man.  Glad  to  have 
you,  stranger.  Gimme  your  hoss.  I'll  take  care  of  him. 
Looks  like  he  was  kind  of  ganted  up,  don't  it?  Well, 
I'll  give  him  a  feed  of  oats  that'll  thicken  his  ribs.  Bar- 
ley don't  do  nothin'  but  heat  up  a  hoss ;  oats  is  the  thing." 

Still  talking,  he  led  the  gelding  into  his  shed.  Andrew 
followed,  took  off  the  saddle,  and,  having  led  the  chest- 
nut out  and  down  to  the  creek  for  a  drink,  he  returned 
and  tied  him  to  a  manger  which  the  trapper  had  filled 
with  a  liberal  supply  of  hay,  to  say  nothing  of  a  feed  box 
stuffed  with  oats. 

A  man  who  was  kind  to  a  horse  could  not  be  treach- 
erous to  a  man,  Andrew  decided. 

"You're  Hank  Rainer,  aren't  you?"  he  asked. 

"That's  me.     And  you?" 

"I'm  the  unwelcome  guest,  I'm  afraid,"  said  Andrew. 


SANCTUARY  IN  THE  HILLS  135 

"I'm  the  nephew  of  Jasper  Lanning.  I  guess  you'll  be 
remembering  him?" 

"I'll  forget  my  right  hand  sooner,"  said  the  big,  red 
man  calmly.  But  he  kept  on  looking  steadily  at  Andrew. 

"Well,"  said  Andrew,  encouraged  and  at  the  same  time 
repulsed  by  this  calm  silence,  "my  name  is  one  you've 
heard.  I  am " 

The  other  broke  in  hastily.  "You  are  Jasper  Lan- 
ning's  nephew.  That's  all  I  know.  What's  a  name  to 
me  ?  I  don't  want  to  know  names !" 

It  puzzled  Andrew,  but  the  big  man  ran  on  smoothly 
enough:  "Lanning  ain't  a  popular  name  around  here, 
you  see?  Suppose  somebody  was  to  come  around  and 
say,  'Seen  Lanning?'  What  could  I  say,  if  you  was 
here?  'I've  got  a  Lanning  here.  I  dunno  but  he's  the 
one  you  want.'  But  suppose  I  don't  know  anything  ex- 
cept you're  Jasper's  nephew?  Maybe  you're  related  on 
the  mother's  side.  Eh?"  He  winked  at  Andrew. 
"You  come  along  and  don't  talk  too  much  about  names." 

He  led  the  way  into  the  house  and  picked  up  one  of 
the  posters,  which  lay  on  the  floor. 

"They've  sent  those  through  the  mountains  already?" 
asked  Andrew  gloomily. 

"Sure!  These  come  down  from  Twin  Falls.  Now, 
a  gent  with  special  fine  eyes  might  find  that  you  looked 
like  the  gent  on  this  poster.  But  my  eyes  are  terrible 
bad  mostly.  Besides,  I  need  to  quicken  up  that  fire." 

He  crumpled  the  poster  and  inserted  it  beneath  the 
lid  of  his  iron  stove.  There  was  a  rush  and  faint  roar 
of  the  flame  up  the  chimney  as  the  cardboard  burned. 
"And  now,"  said  Hank  Rainer,  turning  with  a  broad 
smile,  "I  guess  they  ain't  any  reason  why  I  should  rec- 
ognize you.  You're  just  a  plain  stranger  comin'  along 
and  you  stop  over  here  for  the  night.  That  all  ?" 


136  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

Andrew  had  followed  this  involved  reasoning  with  a 
rather  bewildered  mind,  but  he  smiled  faintly  in  return. 
He  was  bothered,  in  a  way,  by  the  extreme  mental  cau- 
tion of  this  fellow.  It  was  kindly  enough,  but  it  was 
not  altogether  honest.  It  was  as  if  the  keen-eyed  trap- 
per were  more  interested  in  his  own  foolish  little  subter- 
fuge than  in  preserving  Andrew. 

"Now,  tell  me,  how  is  Jasper?" 

"I've  got  to  tell  you  one  thing  first.  Dozier  has  raised 
the  mountains." 

"He's  done  just  that.*' 

"And  I  could  never  cross  'em  now." 

"Going  to  turn  back  into  the  plains  ?" 

"No.  The  ranges  are  wide  enough,  but  they're  a 
prison  just  the  same.  I've  got  to  get  out  of  'em  now  or 
stay  a  prisoner  the  rest  of  my  life,  only  to  be  trailed 
down  in  the  end.  No,  I  want  to  stay  right  here  in  your 
cabin  until  the  men  are  quieted  down  again  and  think  I've 
slipped  away  from  'em.  Then  I'll  sneak  over  the  sum- 
mit and  get  away  unnoticed." 

"Man,  man !  Stay  here  ?  Why,  they'll  find  you  right 
off.  I  wonder  you  got  the  nerve  to  sit  there  now  with 
maybe  ten  men  trailin'  you  to  this  cabin.  But  that's  up 
to  you." 

There  was  a  certain  careless  calm  about  this  that  shook 
Andrew  to  his  center  again.  But  he  countered:  "No, 
they  won't  look  specially  in  houses.  Because  they  wron't 
figure  that  any  man  would  toss  up  that  reward.  Five 
thousand  is  a  pile  of  money." 

"It  sure  is,"  agreed  the  other.  He  parted  his  red 
beard  and  looked  up  to  the  ceiling.  "Five  thousand  is  a 
considerable  pile,  all  in  hard  cash.  But  mostly  they  hunt 
for  this  Andrew  Lanning  a  dozen  at  a  time.  Well,  you 
divide  five  thousand  by  ten,  and  you've  got  only  five 


SANCTUARY  IN  THE  HILLS  137 

hundred  left.  That  ain't  enough  to  tempt  a  man  to  #ive 
up  Lanning — so  bad  as  all  that." 

"Ah,"  smiled  Andrew,  "but  you  don't  understand  what 
a  stake  you  could  make  out  of  me.  If  you  were  to  give 
information  about  me  being  here,  and  you  brought  a 
posse  to  get  me,  you'd  come  in  for  at  least  half  of  the 
reward.  Besides,  the  five  thousand  isn't  all.  There's  at 
least  one  rich  gent  that'll  contribute  maybe  that  much 
more.  And  you'd  get  a  good  half  of  that.  You  see, 
Hal  Dozier  knows  all  that,  and  he  knows  there's  hardly 
a  man  in  the  mountains  who  would  be  able  to  keep  away 
from  selling  me.  So  that's  why  he  won't  search  the 
houses." 

"Not  you,"  corrected  the  trapper  sharply.  "Andy 
Lanning  is  the  man  Dozier  wants." 

"Well,  Andrew  Lanning,  then,"  smiled  the  guest.  "It 
was  just  a  slip  of  the  tongue." 

"Sometimes  slips  like  that  break  a  man's  neck/'  ob- 
served the  trapper,  and  he  fell  into  a  gloomy  meditation. 

And  after  that  they  talked  of  other  things,  until  sup- 
per was  cooked  and  eaten  and  the  tin  dishes  washed  and 
put  away.  Then  they  lay  in  their  bunks  and  watched 
the  last  color  in  the  west  through  the  open  door. 

If  a  member  of  a  posse  had  come  to  the  door,  the  first 
thing  his  eyes  fell  upon  would  have  been  Andrew  Lan- 
ning lying  on  the  floor  on  one  side  of  the  room  and  the 
red-bearded  man  on  the  other.  But,  though  his  host 
suggested  this,  Andrew  refused  to  move  his  blankets. 
And  he  was  right.  The  hunters  were  roving  the  open, 
and  even  Hal  Dozier  was  at  fault. 

"Because,"  said  Andrew,  "he  doesn't  dream  that  I 
could  have  a  friend  so  far  from  home.  Not  five  thou- 
sand dollars'  worth  of  friend,  anyway." 

And  the  trapper  grunted  heavily. 


CHAPTER  XX 

HANK   MAKES   A   GIFT 

IT  was  a  truth  long  after  wondered  at,  when  the  story 
of  Andrew  Lanning  was  told  and  retold,  that  he  had 
lain  in  perfect  security  within  a  six-hour  ride  from 
Tomo,  while  Hal  Dozier  himself  combed  the  mountains 
and  hundreds  more  were  out  hunting  fame  and  fortune. 
To  be  sure,  when  a  stranger  approached,  Andrew  always 
withdrew  into  the  horse  shed;  but,  beyond  keeping  up  a 
steady  watch  during  the  day,  he  had  little  to  do  and  little 
to  fear. 

Indeed,  at  night  he  made  no  pretense  toward  conceal- 
ment, but  slept  quite  openly  on  the  floor  on  the  bed  of 
hay  and  blankets,  just  as  Hank  Rainer  slept  on  the 
farther  side  of  the  room.  And  the  great  size  of  the 
reward  was  the  very  thing  that  kept  him  safe.  For 
when  men  passed  the  cabin,  as  they  often  did,  they  were 
riding  hard  to  get  away  from  Tomo  and  into  the  higher 
mountains,  where  the  outlaw  might  be,  or  else  they  were 
coming  back  to  rest  up,  and  their  destination  in  such  a 
case  was  always  Tomo.  The  cabin  of  the  trapper  was 
just  near  enough  to  the  town  to  escape  being  used  as  a 
shelter  for  the  night  by  stray  travelers.  If  they  got  that 
close,  they  went  on  to  the  luxurious  beds  of  the  hotel. 

But  often  they  paused  long  enough  to  pass  a  word 
with  Hank,  and  Andrew,  from  his  place  behind  the  door 
of  the  horse  shed,  could  hear  it  all.  He  could  even  look 
through  a  crack  and  see  the  faces  of  the  strangers.  They 
told  how  Tomo  was  wrought  to  a  pitch  of  frenzied  inter- 


HANK  MAKES  A  GIFT  139 

est  by  this  man  hunt.  For  the  story  of  how  Andrew 
Lanning  had  written  the  message  on  the  bar  and  drunk 
with  the  man  who  suspected  him  had  gone  the  rounds. 
It  had  received  an  embroidery  of  delightful  conversation, 
over  which  Andrew  chuckled  many  a  time  behind  the 
door.  Besides,  a  dozen  well-to-do  citizens  of  Tomo, 
feeling  that  the  outlaw  had  insulted  the  town  by  so  boldly 
venturing  into  it,  had  raised  a  considerable  contribution 
toward  the  reward.  Other  prominent  miners  and  cat- 
tlemen of  the  district  had  come  forward  with  similar 
offers.  It  was  determined  to  crush  this  career  of  crime 
before  it  was  well  started,  and  every  day  the  price  on 
the  head  of  Andrew  mounted  to  a  higher  and  more 
tempting  figure. 

It  was  a  careless  time  for  Andrew.  After  that  escape 
from  Tomo  he  was  not  apt  to  be  perturbed  by  his  pres- 
ent situation,  but  the  suspense  seemed  to  weigh  more 
and  more  heavily  upon  the  trapper.  Hank  Rainer  was 
so  troubled,  indeed,  that  Andrew  sometimes  surprised  a 
half-guilty,  half-sly  expression  in  the  eyes  of  his  host. 
He  decided  that  Hank  was  anxious  for  the  day  to  come 
when  Andrew  would  ride  off  and  take  his  perilous  com- 
pany elsewhere.  He  even  broached  the  subject  to  Hank, 
but  the  mountaineer  flushed  and  discarded  the  sugges- 
tion with  a  wave  of  his  hand. 

"But  if  a  gang  of  'em  should  ever  hunt  me  down,  even 
in  your  cabin,  Hank,"  said  Andrew  one  day — it  was  the 
third  day  of  his  stay — "I'll  never  forget  what  you've 
done  for  me,  and  one  of  these  days  I'll  see  that  Uncle 
Jasper  finds  out  about  it." 

The  little,  pale-blue  eyes  of  the  trapper  went  swiftly 
to  and  fro,  as  if  he  sought  escape  from  this  embarrassing 
gratitude. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "I've  been  thinkin'  that  the  man  that 


140  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

gets  you,  Andy,  won't  be  so  sure  with  his  money,  after 
all.  He'll  have  your  Uncle  Jasper  on  his  trail  pronto, 
and  Jasper  used  to  be  a  killer  with  a  gun  in  the  old  days." 

"No  more,"  smiled  Andrew.  "He's  still  steady  as  a 
rock,  but  he  hasn't  the  speed  any  more.  He's  over  sev- 
enty, you  see.  And  his  muscles  are  shriveling  up,  and 
his  joints  sort  of  creak  when  he  tries  to  move  with  a 
snap." 

"Ah,"  muttered  the  trapper,  and  again,  as  he  started 
through  the  open  door,  "Ah !" 

Then  he  added:  "Well,  son,  you  don't  need  Jasper. 
If  half  what  they  say  is  true,  you're  a  handy  lad  with 
the  guns.  I  suppose  Jasper  showed  you  his  tricks?" 

"Yes,  and  we  worked  out  some  new  ones  together." 

"Now  you're  in  a  pinch,  ain't  it  a  shame  that  you  ain't 
got  a  chance  to  keep  in  practice  ?" 

"To  tell  the  truth — don't  think  I'm  bragging— -I  don't 
need  much  practice.  Uncle  Jasper  raised  me  with  a  gun 
in  my  hand,  you  might  say,  and  I  don't  think  I'll  ever 
lose  the  feel  of  a  gun.  You  know  what  I  mean?" 

"H'm!"  said  Hank  Rainer. 

When  they  were  sitting  at  the  door  in  the  semidusk, 
he  reverted  to  the  idea.  "You  been  seein'  that  squirrel 
that's  been  runnin'  across  the  clearin'  ?" 

"Yes." 

"I'd  like  to  see  you  work  your  gun,  Andy.  It  was  a 
sight  to  talk  about  to  watch  Jasper,  and  I'm  thinkin'  you 
could  go  him  one  better.  S'pose  you  stand  up  there  in 
the  door  with  your  back  to  the  clearin'.  The  next  time 
that  squirrel  comes  scootin'  across  I'll  say,  'Now!'  and 
you  try  to  turn  and  get  your  gun  on  him  before  he's  out 
of  sight.  Will  you  try  that?" 

"Suppose  some  one  hears  it?" 


HANK  MAKES  A  GIFT  141 

"Oh,  they're  used  to  me  pluggin'  away  for  fun  over 
here.  Besides,  they  ain't  anybody  lives  in  hearin'." 

And  Andrew,  falling  into  the  spirit  of  the  contest, 
stood  up  in  the  door,  and  the  old  tingle  of  nerves,  which 
never  failed  to  come  over  him  in  the  crisis,  was  thrilling 
through  his  body  again.  Then  Hank  barked  the 
word,  "Now!"  and  Andrew  whirled  on  his  heel.  The 
word  had  served  to  alarm  the  squirrel  as  well.  As  he 
heard  it,  he  twisted  about  like  the  snapping  lash  of  a 
whip  and  darted  back  for  cover,  three  yards  away.  He 
covered  that  distance  like  a  little  gray  streak  in  the 
shadow,  but  before  he  reached  it  the  gun  spoke,  and  the 
forty-five-caliber  slug  struck  him  in  the  middle  and  tore 
him  in  two.  Andrew,  hearing  a  sharp  crackling,  looked 
down  at  his  host  and  observed  that  the  trapper  had  bit- 
ten clean  through  the  stem  of  his  corncob. 

"That,"  said  the  red  man  huskily,  "is  some  shootinV 

But  he  did  not  look  up,  and  he  did  not  smile.  And  it 
troubled  Andrew  to  hear  this  rather  grudging  praise. 
That  moment  he  wanted  very  much  to  have  a  fair  look 
into  the  eyes  of  his  host.  Afterward  he  remembered 
this. 

In  the  meantime,  three  days  had  put  the  gelding  in  very 
fair  condition.  He  was  enough  mustang  to  recuperate 
swiftly,  and  that  morning  he  had  tried  with  hungry 
eagerness  to  kick  the  head  from  Andrew's  shoulders. 
This  had  decided  the  outlaw.  Besides,  in  the  last  day 
there  had  been  fewer  and  fewer  riders  up  and  down  the 
ravine,  and  apparently  the  hunt  for  Andrew  Lanning 
had  journeyed  to  another  part  of  the  mountains.  It  • 
seemed  an  excellent  time  to  begin  his  journey  again,  and 
he  told  the  trapper  his  decision  to  start  on  at  dusk  the 
next  day. 


142  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

The  announcement  brought  with  it  a  long  and  thought- 
ful pause. 

"I  wisht  I  could  send  you  on  your  way  with  somethin* 
worth  while/'  said  Hank  Rainer  at  length.  "But  I  ain't 
rich.  I've  lived  plain  and  worked  hard,  but  I  ain't  rich. 
I've  lived  and  worked  hard,  but  I've  got  not  so  much  as 
a  wife  nor  a  child.  So  what  I  can  give  you,  Andy,  won't 
be  much." 

Andrew  protested  that  the  hospitality  had  been  more 
than  a  generous  gift,  but  Hank  Rainer,  looking  straight 
out  the  door,  continued:  "Well,  I'm  goin'  down  the 
road  to  get  you  my  little  gift,  Andy.  Be  back  in  an 
hour  maybe." 

"I'd  rather  have  you  here  to  keep  me  from  being 
lonely/'  said  Andrew.  "I've  money  enough  to  buy  what 
I  want,  but  money  will  never  buy  me  the  talk  of  an  hon- 
est man,  Hank." 

The  other  started.  "Honest  enough,  maybe,"  he  said 
bitterly.  "But  honesty  don't  get  you  bread  or  bacon, 
not  in  this  world !" 

And  presently  he  stamped  into  the  shed,  saddled  his 
pony,  and  after  a  moment  was  scattering  the  pebbles  on 
the  way  down  the  ravine.  The  dark  and  silence  gathered 
over  Andrew  Lanning.  He  had  little  warmth  of  feeling 
for  Hank  Rainer,  to  be  sure,  but  in  the  hush  of  the  cabin 
he  looked  forward  to  many  a  long  evening  and  many  a 
long  day  in  a  silence  like  this,  with  no  man  near  him. 
For  the  man  who  rides  outside  the  law  rides  alone,  and 
the  thought  of  that  loneliness  made  the  heart  of  Andrew 
ache. 

He  could  have  embraced  the  big  man,  therefore,  when 
Hank  finally  came  back,  and  Andrew  could  hear  the 
pony  panting  in  the  shed,  a  sure  sign  that  it  had  been 
ridden  hard. 


HANK  MAKES  A  GIFT  143 

"It  ain't  much/'  said  Hank,  "but  it's  yours,  and  I  hope 
you  get  a  chance  to  use  it  in  a  pinch."  And  he  dumped 
down  a  case  of  .45  cartridges. 

After  all,  there  could  have  been  no  gift  more  to  the 
point,  but  it  gave  Andrew  a  little  chill  of  distaste,  this 
reminder  of  the  life  that  lay  ahead  of  him.  And  in  spite 
of  himself  he  could  not  break  the  silence  that  began  to 
settle  over  the  cabin  again.  Finally  Hank  announced 
that  it  was  bedtime  for  him,  and,  preparing  himself  by 
the  simple  expedient  of  kicking  off  his  boots  and  then 
drawing  off  his  trousers,  he  slipped  into  his  blankets, 
twisted  them  tightly  around  his  broad  shoulders  with  a 
single  turn  of  his  body,  and  was  instantly  snoring.  An- 
drew followed  that  example  more  slowly. 

Not  since  he  left  Martindale,  however,  had  he  slept 
soundly.  Take  a  tame  dog  into  the  wilderness  and  he 
learns  to  sleep  like  a  wolf  quickly  enough;  and  Andrew, 
with  mind  and  nerve  constantly  set  for  action  like  a 
cocked  revolver,  had  learned  to  sleep  like  a  wild  thing  in 
turn.  And  accordingly,  when  he  wakened  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  night,  he  was  alert  on  the  instant.  He  had  a 
singular  feeling  that  some  one  had  been  looking  at  him 
while  he  slept. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

HANK  DROPS   HIS   CARDS 

FIRST  of  all,  naturally,  he  looked  at  the  door.  It  was 
now  a  bright  rectangle  filled  with  moonlight  and 
quite  empty.  There  might,  of  course,  be  something  or 
some  one  just  outside  the  door.  It  might  even  be  that 
a  wild  animal  had  looked  in.  But  Andrew  knew  that  the 
mere  falling  of  an  eye  upon  him  would  not  waken  him. 
There  must  have  been  a  sound,  and  he  glanced  over  to 
the  trapper  for  an  explanation.  But  Hank  Rainer  lay 
twisted  closely  in  his  blankets. 

Andrew  raised  upon  one  elbow  and  thought.  It  trou- 
bled him — the  insistent  feeling  of  the  eyes  which  had 
been  upon  him.  They  had  burned  their  way  into  his 
dreams  with  a  bright  insistence. 

He  looked  again,  and,  having  formed  the  habit  of 
photographing  things  with  one  glance,  he  compared  what 
he  saw  now  with  what  he  had  last  seen  when  he  fell 
asleep.  It  tallied  in  every  detail  except  one.  The  trou- 
sers which  had  lain  on  the  floor  beside  Hank's  bed  were 
no  longer  there. 

It  was  a  little  thing,  of  course,  but  Andrew  closed  his 
eyes  to  make  sure.  Yes,  he  could  even  remember  the 
gesture  with  which  the  trapper  had  tossed  down  the 
trousers  to  the  floor.  Andrew  sat  up  in  bed  noiselessly. 
He  slipped  to  the  door  and  flashed  one  glance  up  and 
down.  Below  him  the  hillside  was  bright  beneath  the 
moon.  The  far  side  of  the  ravine  was  doubly  black  in 
shadow. 


HANK  DROPS  HIS  CARDS  145 

But  nothing  lived,  nothing  moved.  And  then  again 
he  felt  the  eye  upon  him.  He  whirled.  "Hank!"  he 
called  softly.  And  he  saw  the  slightest  start  as  he  spoke. 
"Hank!"  he  repeated  in  the  same  tone,  and  the  trapper 
stretched  his  arms,  yawned  heavily,  and  turned.  "Well, 
lad  ?"  he  inquired. 

But  Andrew  knew  that  he  had  been  heard  the  first  time, 
and  he  felt  that  this  pretended  slow  awakening  was  too 
elaborate  to  be  true.  He  went  back  to  his  own  bed  and 
began  to  dress  rapidly.  In  a  moment  he  was  equipped. 
In  the  meantime  the  trapper  was  staring  stupidly  at  him 
and  asking  what  was  wrong. 

"Something  mighty  queer,"  said  Andrew.  "Must  have 
been  a  coyote  in  here  that  sneaked  off  with  your  trousers, 
unless  you  have  'em  on." 

Just  a  touch  of  pause,  then  the  other  replied  through 
a  yawn:  "Sure,  I  got  'em  on.  Had  to  get  up  in  the 
night,  and  I  was  too  plumb  sleepy  to  take  'em  off  again 
when  I  come  back." 

"Ah,"  said  Andrew,  "I  see." 

He  stepped  to  the  door  into  the  horse  shed  and  paused ; 
there  was  no  sound.  He  opened  the  door  and  stepped 
in  quickly.  Both  horses  were  on  the  ground,  asleep,  but 
he  took  the  gelding  by  the  nose,  to  muffle  a  grunt  as  he 
rose,  and  brought  him  to  his  feet.  Then,  still  softly 
and  swiftly,  he  lifted  the  saddle  from  its  peg  and  put  it 
on  its  back.  One  long  draw  made  the  cinches  taut.  He 
fastened  the  straps,  and  then  went  to  the  little  window 
behind  the  horse,  through  which  had  come  the  vague  and 
glimmering  light  by  which  he  did  the  saddling.  Now 
he  scanned  the  trees  on  the  edge  of  the  clearing  with 
painful  anxiety.  Once  he  thought  that  he  heard  a  voice, 
but  it  was  only  the  moan  of  one  branch  against  another 
as  the  wind  bent  some  tree.  He  stepped  back  from  the 


146  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

window  and  rubbed  his  knuckles  across  his  forehead, 
obviously  puzzled.  It  might  be  that,  after  all,  he  was 
wrong.  So  he  turned  back  once  more  toward  the  main 
room  of  the  cabin  to  make  sure.  Instead  of  opening  the 
door  softly,  as  a  suspicious  man  will,  he  cast  it  open  with 
a  sudden  push  of  his  foot;  the  hulk  of  Hank  Rainer 
turned  at  the  opposite  door,  and  the  big  man  staggered 
as  though  he  had  been  struck. 

It  might  have  been  caused  by  his  swift  right-about 
face,  throwing  him  off  his  balance,  but  it  was  more  prob- 
ably the  shock  that  came  from  facing  a  revolver  in  the 
hand  of  Andrew.  The  gun  was  at  his  hip.  It  had 
come  into  his  hand  with  a  nervous  flip  of  the  fingers  as 
rapid  as  the  gesture  of  the  card  expert. 

"Come  back,"  said  Andrew.  "Talk  soft,  step  soft. 
Now,  Hank,  what  made  you  do  it?" 

The  red  hair  of  the  other  was  burning  faintly  in  the 
moonlight,  and  it  went  out  as  he  stepped  from  the  door 
into  the  middle  of  the  room,  his  finger  tips  brushing  the 
ceiling  above  him.  And  Andrew,  peering  through  that 
shadow,  saw  two  little,  bright  eyes,  like  the  eyes  of  a 
beast,  twinkling  out  at  him  from  the  mass  of  hair.  A 
twitch  of  cold  went  among  the  muscles  of  his  back  as  he 
saw  the  thing. 

"When  you  went  after  the  shells  for  me,  Hank,"  he 
stated,  "you  gave  the  word  that  I  was  here.  Then  you 
told  the  gent  that  took  the  message  to  spread  it  around 
— to  get  it  to  Hal  Dozier,  if  possible — to  have  the  men 
come  back  here.  You'd  go  out,  when  I  was  sound  asleep, 
and  tell  them  when  they  could  rush  me.  Is  that  straight  ?" 

There  was  no  answer. 

"Speak  out!  I  feel  like  shovin'  this  gun  down  your 
throat,  Hank,  but  I  won't  if  you  speak  out  and  tell  me 
the  truth." 


HANK  DROPS  HIS  CARDS  147 

Whatever  other  failings  might  be  his,  there  was  no 
great  cowardice  in  Hank  Rainer.  His  arms  remained 
above  his  head  and  his  little  eyes  burned.  That  was  all. 

"Well,"  said  Andrew,  "I  think  you've  got  me,  Hank. 
I  suppose  I  ought  to  send  you  to  death  before  me,  but,  to 
tell  you  the  straight  of  it,  I'm  not  going  to,  because  I'm 
sort  of  sick.  Sick,  you  understand  ?  Tell  me  one  thing 
— are  the  boys  here  yet?  Are  they  scattered  around 
the  edge  of  the  clearing,  or  are  they  on  the  way?  Hank, 
was  it  worth  five  thousand  to  double  cross  a  gent  that's 
your  guest — a  fellow  that's  busted  bread  with  you, 
bunked  in  the  same  room  with  you?  And  even  when 
they've  drilled  me  clean,  and  you've  got  the  reward,  don't 
you  know  that  you'll  be  a  skunk  among  real  men  from 
this  time  on?  Did  you  figure  on  that  when  you  sold 
me?" 

The  hands  of  Hank  Rainer  fell  suddenly,  but  no  lower 
than  his  beard.  The  fingers  thrust  at  his  throat — he 
seemed  to  be  tearing  his  own  flesh. 

"Pull  the  trigger,  Andy,"  he  said.  "Go  on.  I  ain't 
fit  to  live.  I  don't  want  to  live.  But  if  I  had  it  to  do 
over  again !" 

"Why  did  you  do  it,  Hank?" 

"I  wanted  a  new  set  of  traps,  Andy;  that  was  what  I 
wanted.  I'd  been  figurin'  and  schemin'  all  autumn  how 
to  get  my  traps  before  the  winter  come  on.  My  own 
wasn't  any  good.  Then  I  seen  that  fur  coat  of  yours. 
It  set  me  thinking  about  what  I  could  do  if  I  had  some 
honest-to-goodness  traps  with  springs  in  'em  that  would 
hold — and — I  stood  it  as  long  as  I  could." 

While  he  spoke,  Andrew  looked  past  him,  through  the 
door.  All  the  world  was  silver  beyond.  The  snow  had 
been  falling,  and  on  the  first  great  peak  there  was  a  glint 
of  the  white,  very  pure  and  chill  against  the  sky.  The 


148  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

very  air  was  keen  and  sweet.  Ah,  it  was  a  world  to 
live  in,  and  he  was  not  ready  to  die ! 

He  looked  back  to  Hank  Rainer.  "Hank,  my  time 
was  sure  to  come  sooner  or  later,  but  I'm  not  ready  to 
die.  I'm — I'm  too  young,  Hank.  Well,  good-by!" 

He  found  gigantic  arms  spreading  before  him. 

"Andy/'  insisted  the  big  man,  "it  ain't  too  late  for  me 
to  double  cross  'em.  Let  me  go  out  first  and  you  come 
straight  behind  me.  They  won't  fire;  they'll  think  I've 
got  a  new  plan  for  givin'  you  up.  When  we  get  to  the 
circle  of  'em,  because  they're  all  round  the  cabin,  we'll 
drive  at  'em  together.  Come  on !" 

"Wait  a  minute.     Is  Hal  Dozier  out  there?" 

"Yes.  Oh,  go  on  and  curse  me,  Andy.  I'm  cursin' 
myself!" 

"If  he's  there  it's  no  use.  But  there's  no  use  two 
dyin'  when  I  try  to  get  through.  Only  one  thing,  Hank ; 
if  you  want  to  keep  your  self-respect  don't  take  the 
reward  money/' 

"I'll  see  it  burn  first,  and  I'm  goin'  with  you,  Andy!" 

"You  stay  where  you  are;  this  is  my  party.  Before 
the  finish  of  the  dance  I'm  going  to  see  if  some  of  those 
sneaks  out  yonder,  lyin'  so  snug,  won't  like  to  step  right 
out  and  do  a  caper  with  me !" 

And  before  the  trapper  could  make  a  protest  he  had 
drawn  back  into  the  horse  shed. 

There  he  led  the  chestnut  to  the  door,  and,  looking 
through  the  crack,  he  scanned  the  surface  of  the  ground. 
It  was  sadly  broken  and  chopped  with  rocks,  but  the  geld- 
ing might  make  headway  fast  enough.  It  was  a. short 
distance  to  the  trees — twenty-five  to  forty  yards,  per- 
haps. And  if  he  burst  out  of  that  shed  on  the  back  of 
the  horse,  spurred  to  full  speed,  he  might  take  the  watch- 
ers, who  perhaps  expected  a  signal  from  the  trapper  be- 


HANK  DROPS  HIS  CARDS  149 

fore  they  acted,  quite  unawares,  and  he  would  be  among 
the  sheltering  shadows  of  the  forest  while  the  posse  was 
getting  up  its  guns. 

There  was  an  equally  good  chance  that  he  would  ride 
straight  into  a  nest  of  the  waiting  men,  and,  even  if  he 
reached  the  forest,  he  would  be  riddled  with  bullets. 

Now,  all  these  thoughts  and  all  this  weighing  of  the 
chances  occupied  perhaps  half  a  second,  while  Andrew 
stood  looking  through  the  crack.  Then  he  swung  into 
the  saddle,  leaning  far  over  to  the  side  so  that  he  would 
have  clearance  under  the  doorway,  kicked  open  the  swing- 
ing door,  and  sent  the  chestnut  leaping  into  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  THRESHOLD   OF   MERCY 

IF  only  the  night  had  been  dark,  if  the  gelding  had  had 
a  fair  start ;  but  the  moon  was  bright,  and  in  the  thin 
mountain  air  it  made  a  radiance  almost  as  keen  as  day 
and  just  sufficiently  treacherous  to  delude  a  horse,  which 
had  been  sent  unexpectedly  out  among  rocks  by  a  cruel 
pair  of  spurs.  At  the  end  of  the  first  leap  the  gelding 
stumbled  to  his  knees  with  a  crash  and  snort  among 
the  stones.  The  shock  hurled  Andrew  forward,  but  he 
clung  with  spurs  and  hand,  and  as  he  twisted  back  into 
the  saddle  the  gelding  rose  valiantly  and  lurched  ahead 
again. 

Yet  that  double  sound  might  have  roused  an  army, 
and  for  the  keen-eared  watchers  around  the  clearing  it 
was  more  than  an  ample  warning.  There  was  a  crash 
of  musketry  so  instant  and  so  close  together  that  it  was 
like  a  volley  delivered  by  a  line  of  soldiers  at  command. 
Bullets  sang  shrill  and  small  around  Andrew,  but  that 
first  discharge  had  been  a  burst  of  snap-shooting,  and  by 
moonlight  it  takes  a  rare  man  indeed  to  make  an  accurate 
snapshot.  The  first  discharge  left  both  Andrew  and  the 
horse  untouched,  and  for  the  moment  the  wild  hope  of 
unexpected  success  was  raised  in  his  heart.  And  he  had 
noted  one  all-important  fact — the  flashes,  widely  scat- 
tered as  they  were,  did  not  extend  across  the  exact  course 
of  his  flight  toward  the  trees.  Therefore,  none  of  the 
posse  would  have  a  point-blank  shot  at  him.  For  those 
in  the  rear  and  on  the  sides  the  weaving  course  of  the 


THE  THRESHOLD  OF  MERCY  151 

gelding,  running  like  a  deer  and  swerving  agilely  among 
the  rocks,  as  if  to  make  up  for  his  first  blunder,  offered 
the  most  difficult  of  all  targets. 

All  this  in  only  the  space  of  a  breath,  yet  the  ground 
was  already  crossed  and  the  trees  were  before  him  when 
Andrew  saw  a  ray  of  moonlight  flash  on  the  long  bar- 
rel of  a  rifle  to  his  right,  and  he  knew  that  one  man  at 
least  was  taking  a  deliberate  aim.  He  had  his  revolver 
on  the  fellow  in  the  instant,  and  yet  he  held  his  fire. 
God  willing,  he  would  come  back  to  Anne  Withero  with 
no  more  stains  on  his  hands ! 

And  that  noble,  boyish  impulse  killed  the  chestnut,  for 
a  moment  later  a  stream  of  fire  spouted  out,  long  and 
thin,  from  the  muzzle  of  the  rifle,  and  the  gelding  struck 
at  the  end  of  a  stride,  like  a  ship  going  down  in  the  sea ; 
his  limbs  seemed  to  turn  to  tallow  under  him,  and  he 
crumpled  on  the  ground. 

The  fall  flung  Andrew  clean  out  of  the  saddle;  he 
landed  on  his  knees  and  leaped  for  the  woods,  but  now 
there  was  a  steady  roar  of  guns  behind  him.  He  was 
struck  heavily  behind  the  left  shoulder,  staggered. 
Something  gashed  his  neck  like  the  edge  of  a  red-hot 
knife,  his  whole  left  side  was  numb. 

And  then  the  merciful  dark  of  the  trees  closed  around 
him. 

For  fifty  yards  he  raced  through  an  opening  in  the 
trees,  while  a  yelling  like  wild  Indians  rose  behind  him; 
then  he  leaped  into  cover  and  waited.  One  thing  fa- 
vored him  still.  They  had  not  brought  horses,  or  at 
least  they  had  left  their  mounts  at  some  distance,  for  fear 
of  the  chance  noises  they  might  make  when  the  cabin 
was  stalked.  And  now,  looking  down  the  lane  among 
the  trees,  he  saw  men  surge  into  it. 

All  his  left  side  was  covered  with  a  hot  bath,  but,  bal- 


152  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

ancing  his  revolver  in  his  right  hand,  he  felt  a  queer 
touch  of  joy  and  pride  at  finding  his  nerve  still  unshaken. 
He  raised  the  weapon,  covered  their  bodies,  and  then 
something  like  an  invisible  hand  forced  down  the  muz- 
zle of  his  gun.  He  could  not  shoot  to  kill ! 

He  did  what  was  perhaps  better;  he  fired  at  that  mass 
of  legs,  and  even  a  child  could  not  have  failed  to  strike 
the  target.  Once,  twice,  and  again;  then  the  crowd 
melted  to  either  side  of  the  path,  and  there  was  a  shriek- 
ing and  forms  twisting  and  writhing  on  the  ground. 

Some  one  was  shouting  orders  from  the  side;  he  was 
ordering  them  to  the  right  and  left  to  surround  the  fugi- 
tive ;  he  was  calling  out  that  Lanning  was  hit.  At  least, 
they  would  go  with  caution  down  his  trail  after  that  first 
check.  He  left  his  sheltering  tree  and  ran  again  down 
the  ravine. 

By  this  time  the  first  shock  of  the  wounds  and  the 
numbness  were  leaving  him,  but  the  pain  was  terrible. 
It  gathered  in  his  shoulder  and  shot  with  hot  and  cold 
fingers  up  and  down  his  side.  Yet  he  knew  that  he  was 
not  fatally  injured  if  he  could  stop  that  mortal  drain  of 
his  wounds. 

He  heard  the  pursuit  in  the  distance  more  and  more. 
Every  now  and  then  there  was  a  spasmodic  outburst  of 
shooting,  and  Andrew  grinned  in  spite  of  his  pain.  They 
were  closing  around  the  place  where  they  thought  he 
was  making  his  last  stand,  shooting  at  shadows  which 
might  be  the  man  they  wanted. 

Then  he  stopped,  tore  off  his  shirt,  and  ripped  it  with 
his  right  hand  and  his  teeth  into  strips.  He  tied  one 
around  his  neck,  knotting  it  until  he  could  only  draw 
his  breath  with  difficulty.  Several  more  strips  he  tied 
together,  and  then  wound  the  long  bandage  around  his 
shoulder  and  pulled.  The  pain  brought  him  close  to  a 


THE  THRESHOLD  OF  MERCY  153 

swoon,  but  when  his  senses  cleared  he  found  that  the  flow 
from  his  wounds  had  eased. 

But  not  entirely.  There  was  still  some  of  that  deadly 
trickling  down  his  side,  and,  with  the  chill  of  the  night 
biting  into  him,  he  knew  that  it  was  life  or  death  to  him 
if  he  could  reach  some  friendly  house  within  the  next 
two  miles.  Some  friendly  house — in  two  thousand 
miles,  even!  There  was  only  one  dwelling  straight  be- 
fore him,  and  that  was  the  house  of  the  owner  of  the 
bay  mare.  They  would  doubtless  turn  him  over  to  the 
posse  instantly.  But  there  was  one  chance  in  a  hundred 
that  they  would  not  break  the  immemorial  rule  of  moun- 
tain hospitality.  For  Andrew  there  was  no  hope  except 
that  tenuous  one. 

The  rest  of  that  walk  became  a  nightmare.  Such  was 
the  singing  in  his  ears  that  he  was  not  sure  whether  he 
heard  the  yell  of  rage  and  disappointment  behind  him 
as  the  posse  discovered  that  the  bird  had  flown  or  whether 
the  sound  existed  only  in  his  own  ringing  head.  But 
one  thing  was  certain — they  would  not  trail  Andrew  Lan- 
ning  recklessly  in  the  night,  not  even  with  the  moon  to 
help  them. 

So  he  plodded  steadily  on.  If  it  had  not  been  for 
that  ceaseless  drip  he  would  have  taken  the  long  chance 
and  broken  for  the  mountains  above  him,  trying  through 
many  a  long  day  ahead  to  cure  the  wounds  and  in  some 
manner  sustain  his  life.  But  the  drain  continued.  It 
was  hardly  more  than  drop  by  drop,  but  all  the  time  a 
telltale  weakness  was  growing  in  his  legs,  as  if  he  were 
drunk,  and  making  his  knees  buckle  more  and  more  at 
every  step.  In  spite  of  the  agony  he  was  sleepy,  and 
he  would  have  liked  to  drop  on  the  first  mat  of  leaves 
that  he  found. 

That  crazy  temptation  he  brushed  away,  and  went  on 


154  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

until  surely,  like  a  star  of  hope,  he  saw  the  light  winking 
feebly  through  the  trees,  and  then  came  out  on  the  cabin. 

He  remembered  afterward  that  even  in  his  dazed  con- 
dition he  was  disappointed  because  of  the  neat,  crisp, 
appearance  of  the  house.  There  must  be  women  there, 
and  women  meant  screams,  horror,  betrayal. 

But  there  was  no  other  hope  for  him  now.  Twice,  as 
he  crossed  the  clearing  before  he  reached  the  door  of 
the  cabin,  his  foot  struck  a  rock  and  he  pitched  weakly 
forward,  with  only  the  crumbling  strength  of  his  right 
arm  to  keep  him  from  striking  on  his  face.  Then  there 
was  a  furious  clamor  and  a  huge  dog  rushed  at  him. 

It  was  like  a  picture  of  a  dog  rather  than  a  reality  to 
Andrew.  He  heeded  it  only  with  a  glance  from  the 
corner  of  his  eye.  And  then,  his  dull  brain  clearing,  he 
realized  that  the  dog  no  longer  howled  at  him  or  showed 
his  teeth,  but  was  walking  beside  him,  licking  his  hand 
and  whining  with  sympathy. 

"Oh,  Lord,"  thought  Andrew,  "if  I  could  find  one 
human  being  with  a  heart  as  kind  as  that  dog's !" 

He  dropped  again,  and  this  time  he  could  never  have 
regained  his  feet  had  not  his  right  arm  flopped  helplessly 
across  the  back  of  the  big  dog,  and  the  beast  cowered 
and  growled,  but  it  did  not  attempt  to  slide  from  under 
his  weight. 

He  managed  to  get  erect  again,  but  when  he  reached 
the  low  flight  of  steps  to  the  front  door  he  was  reeling 
drunkenly  from  side  to  side.  He  fumbled  for  the  knob, 
and  it  turned  with  a  grating  sound. 

"Hold  on!  Keep  out!"  shrilled  a  voice  inside/  "We 
got  guns  here.  Keep  out,  you  dirty  bum !" 

The  door  fell  open,  and  he  found  himself  confronted 
by  what  seemed  to  him  a  dazzling  torrent  of  light  and  a 


THE  THRESHOLD  OF  MERCY  155 

host  of  human  faces.  He  drew  himself  up  beside  the 
doorway. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Andrew,  "I  am  not  a  bum.  I  am 
worth  five  thousand  dollars  to  the  man  who  turns  me 
over,  dead  or  alive,  to  the  sheriff.  My  name  is  Andrew 
Lanning." 

At  that  the  faces  became  a  terrible  rushing  and  circling 
flare,  and  the  lights  went  out  with  equal  suddenness.  He 
was  left  in  total  darkness,  falling  through  space ;  but,  at 
his  last  moment  of  consciousness,  he  felt  arms  going 
about  him,  arms  through  which  his  bulk  kept  slipping 
down,  and  below  him  was  a  black  abyss. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

UNDER   COVER 

IT  was  a  very  old  man  who  held,  or  tried  to  hold,  An- 
drew from  falling  to  the  floor.  He  was,  in  fact,  the 
same  man  who  had  sat  under  the  awning  smoking  the 
corncob  pipe,  some  three  days  before.  Now  his  old 
shoulders  shook  under  the  burden  of  the  outlaw,  and  the 
burden,  indeed,  would  have  slumped  brutally  to  the  floor, 
had  not  the  small  ten-year-old  boy,  whom  Andrew  had 
seen  on  the  bay  mare,  come  running  in  under  the  arms 
of  the  old  man.  With  his  meager  strength  he  assisted, 
and  the  two  managed  to  lower  the  body  gently.  Andrew 
was  struggling  to  the  last,  and  there  was  a  horror  in  his 
wide,  blank  eyes. 

"Hold  me/'  he  kept  saying.  "Don't  let  me  slip,  or 
I'm  done  for.  Hold  me,  and  the  girl  will  come  and  save 
me.  Anne !" 

The  boy  was  frightened.  He  was  white  at  the  sight 
of  the  wounds,  and  the  freckles  stood  out  in  copper 
patches  from  his  pallor. 

Now  he  clung  to  the  old  man. 

"What  does  he  mean,  granddad?"  he  whispered. 
"What  girl  is  comin'  to  save  him?" 

"When  you  get  a  pile  older,  Jud,"  said  granddad, 
"you'll  know  what  he  means.  You  might  even  knpw  the 
girl,  or  a  dead  ringer  for  her.  I  knew  her  kind  once." 

"Who  was  she?" 

"Your  grandma,  you  little  fool.  Now  don't  ask  ques- 
tions." 


UNDER  COVER  157 

"Granddad,  it's  the  gent  that  tried  to  buy  Mary !" 

The  old  man  had  produced  a  murderous  jackknife 
with  a  blade  that  had  been  ground  away  to  the  disap- 
pearing point  by  years  of  steady  grinding. 

"Get  some  wood  in  the  stove,"  he  commanded.  "Fire 
her  up,  quick.  Put  on  some  water.  Easy,  lad !" 

The  room  became  a  place  of  turmoil  with  the  clatter 
of  the  stove  lids  being  raised,  the  clangor  of  the  kettle 
being  filled  and  put  in  place.  By  the  time  the  fire  was 
roaring  and  the  boy  had  turned,  he  found  the  bandages 
had  been  taken  from  the  body  of  the  stranger  and  his 
grandfather  was  studying  the  smeared  naked  torso  with 
a  sort  of  detached,  philosophic  interest.  With  the  thumb 
and  forefinger  of  his  left  hand  he  was  pressing  deeply 
into  the  left  shoulder  of  Andrew. 

"Now,  there's  an  arm  for  you,  Jud,"  said  the  old  man. 
"See  them  long,  stringy  muscles  in  the  forearm?  If  you 
grow  up  and  have  muscles  like  them,  you  can  call  your- 
self a  man.  And  you  see  the  way  his  stomach  caves  in? 
Aye,  that's  a  sign!  And  the  way  his  ribs  sticks  out — 
and  just  feel  them  muscles  on  the  point  of  his  shoul- 
der   Oh,  Jud,  he  would  of  made  a  prime  wrestler, 

this  fine  bird  of  ours !" 

"It's  like  touchin'  somethin'  dead,  granddad/'  said  the 
boy.  "I  don't  dast  to  do  it!" 

"Jud,  they's  some  times  when  I  just  about  want  to 
give  you  up!  Dead?  He  ain't  nowheres  near  dead. 
Jest  bled  a  bit,  that's  all.  Two  as  pretty  little  wounds 
as  was  ever  drilled  clean  by  a  powerful  rifle  at  short 
range.  Dead?  Why,  inside  two  weeks  he'll  be  fit  as  a 
fiddle,  and  inside  a  month  he'll  be  his  own  self!  Dead! 
Jud,  you  make  me  tired !  Gimme  that  water." 

He  went  to  work  busily.     Out  of  a  sort  of  first-aid 


158  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

chest  he  took  homemade  bandages  and,  after  cleansing 
the  wounds,  he  began  to  dress  them  carefully. 

He  talked  with  every  movement. 

"So  this  here  is  the  lion,  is  it?"  nodded  granddad. 
"This  here  is  the  ravenin',  tearin',  screechin'  man-eater? 
Why,  he  looks  mostly  plain  kid  to  me." 

"He — he's  been  shot,  ain't  he,  granddad?"  asked  the 
child  in  a  whisper. 

"Well,  boy,  I'd  say  that  the  lion  had  been  chawed  up 
considerable — by  dogs." 

He  pointed.  "See  them  holes  ?  The  big  one  in  front  ? 
That  means  they  sneaked  up  behind  him  and  shot  him 
while  his  back  was  turned." 

He  sighed. 

"I've  heard  fine  things  and  brave  things  about  Hal 
Dozier,  but  mostly  I  begin  to  misdoubt  'em  all!  These 
ain't  the  days  for  a  man-sized  man  to  go  cavortin'  around. 
When  he  goes  out  to  take  a  little  exercise,  they  get  a 
hundred  of  'em  together  and  put  him  in  a  cage  and  say 
he's  broke  the  law.  Oh,  Jud,  these  ain't  no  days  for 
a  man  to  be  livin'  in." 

"He's  wakin'  up,  granddad,"  said  Jud,  more  fright- 
ened than  before. 

The  eyes  of  Andrew  were  indeed  opening. 

He  smiled  up  at  them.  "Uncle  Jas,"  he  said,  "I  don't 
like  to  fight.  It  makes  me  sick  inside,  to  fight."  He 
closed  his  eyes  again. 

"Now,  now,  now!"  murmured  Pop.  "This  boy  has 
a  way  with  him.  And  he  killed  Bill  Dozier,  did  he? 
Son,  gimme  the  whisky." 

He  poured  a  little  down  the  throat  of  the  wounded 
man,  and  Andrew  frowned  and  opened  his  eyes  again. 
He  was  conscious  at  last. 


UNDER  COVER  159 

"I  think  I've  seen  you  before,"  he  said  calmly.  "Are 
you  one  of  the  posse  ?" 

The  old  man  stiffened  a  little.  A  spot  of  red  glowed 
on  his  withered  cheek  and  went  out  like  a  snuffed  light. 

"Young  feller,"  said  the  old  man,  "when  I  go  huntin' 
I  go  alone.  You  write  that  down  in  red,  and  don't  for- 
get it.  I  ain't  ever  been  a  member  of  no  posse.  Look 
around  and  see  yourself  to  home." 

Andrew  raised  his  head  a  little  and  made  out  the  neat 
room.  It  showed,  as  even  his  fading  senses  had  per- 
ceived when  he  saw  the  house  first,  a  touch  of  almost 
feminine  care.  The  floor  was  scrubbed  to  whiteness, 
the  pans  hanging  on  the  wall  flashed  under  the  lamp- 
light, the  very  stove  was  burnished. 

"I  remember,"  said  Andrew  faintly. 

"You  did  see  me  before,"  said  the  other,  "when  you 
rode  into  Tomo.  I  seen  you  and  you  seen  me.  We 
changed  looks,  so  to  speak.  And  now  you've  dropped 
in  to  call  on  me.  I'm  goin'  to  put  you  up  in  the  attic. 
Gimme  a  hand  to  straighten  him  up,  Jud." 

With  Jud's  help  and  the  last  remnant  of  Andrew's 
strength  they  managed  to  get  him  to  his  feet,  and  then 
he  partly  climbed,  partly  was  pushed  by  Jud,  and  partly 
was  dragged  by  the  old  man  up  a  ladder  to  the  loft.  It 
was  quite  cool  there,  very  dark,  and  the  air  came  in 
through  two  windows. 

"Ain't  very  sociable  to  put  a  guest  in  the  attic,"  said 
Pop,  between  his  panting  breaths.  "But  I'll  be  the  doc- 
tor, and  I  order  quiet  and  rest.  Ain't  apt  to  have  much 
rest  downstairs,  'cause  a  public  character  like  you,  Lan- 
ning,  will  have  a  consid'able  pile  of  callers  askin'  after 
you.  Terrible  jarrin'  to  the  nerves  when  folks  come  in 
and  call  on  a  sick  man.  You  lie  here  and  rest  easy." 

He  went  down  the  ladder  and  came  back  dragging  a 


160  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

mattress.  There,  by  the  light  of  a  lantern,  he  and  Jud 
made  Andrew  as  comfortable  as  possible. 

"You  mean  to  keep  me  here  ?"  asked  the  outlaw. 

"Long  as  you  feel  like  restin',"  answered  the  old  man. 

"You  can  make  about " 

"Stop  that  fool  talk  about  what  I  can  make  out  of  you. 
How  come  it  you  stayed  so  close  to  Tomo  ?  Where  was 
you  lyin'  low?  In  the  hills?" 

"Not  far  away/' 

"And  they  smelled  you  out?" 

"A  man  I  thought  was  my  friend "  Andrew 

clicked  his  teeth  shut. 

"You  was  sold,  eh  ?" 

"I  made  a  mistake." 

"H'm,"  was  the  other's  comment.  "Well,  you  forget 
about  that  and  go  to  sleep.  I  got  a  few  little  attentions 
to  pay  to  that  posse.  It'll  be  here  r'arin'  before  to-mor- 
rer.  Sleep  tight,  partner/' 

He  climbed  down  the  ladder  and  looked  around  the 
room.  Jud,  his  freckles  still  looking  like  spots  of  mud 
or  rust,  his  eyes  popping,  stood  silent. 

"I'm  glad  of  that,"  said  the  old  man,  with  a  sigh. 

"What,  granddad?" 

"You're  like  a  girl,  Jud.  Takes  a  sight  to  make  you 
reasonable  quiet.  But  look  yonder.  Them  spots  look 
tolerable  like  red  paint,  don't  they  ?  Well,  we  got  to  get 
'em  off." 

"I'll  heat  some  more  water,"  suggested  Jud. 

"You  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  You  get  them  two 
butcher  knives  out  of  the  table  drawer  and  we'll  scrape 
off  the  wood,  because  you  can't  wash  that  stain  out'n  a 
floor."  He  looked  suddenly  at  Jud  with  a  glint  in  his 
eyes.  "I  know,  because  I've  tried  it." 

For  several  minutes  they  scraped  hard  at  the  floor 


UNDER  COVER  161 

until  the  last  vestige  of  the  fresh  stains  was  gone.  Then 
the  old  man  went  outside  and,  coming  back  with  a  hand- 
ful of  sand,  rubbed  it  in  carefully  over  the  scraped  places. 
When  this  was  swept  away  the  floor  presented  no  sus- 
picious traces. 

"But,"  he  exclaimed  suddenly,  "I  forgot.  I  plumb 
forgot.  He's  been  leakin'  all  the  way  here,  and  when 
the  sun  comes  up  they'll  foller  him  that  easy  by  the  sign. 
Jud,  we're  beat !" 

They  dropped,  as  at  a  signal,  into  two  opposite  chairs, 
and  sat  staring  gloomily  at  each  other.  The  old  man 
looked  simply  sad  and  weary,  but  the  color  came  and 
went  in  the  face  of  Jud.  And  then,  like  a  light,  an  idea 
dawned  in  the  face  of  the  child.  He  got  up  from  his 
chair,  lighted  a  lantern,  and  went  outside.  His  grand- 
father observed  this  without  comment  or  suggestion,  but, 
when  Jud  was  gone,  he  observed  to  himself :  "Jud  takes 
after  me.  He's  got  thoughts.  And  them  was  things 
his  ma  and  pa  was  never  bothered  with." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

JUD'S   SACRIFICE 

THE  thought  of  Jud  now  took  him  up  the  back  trail 
of  Andrew  Lanning.  He  leaned  far  over  with  the 
lantern,  studying  with  intense  interest  every  place  where 
the  wounds  of  the  injured  man  might  have  left  telltale 
stains  on  the  rocks  or  the  grass.  When  he  had  appar- 
ently satisfied  himself  of  this,  he  turned  and  ran  at  full 
speed  back  to  the  house  and  went  up  the  ladder  to  An- 
drew. There  he  took  the  boots — they  were  terribly 
stained,  he  saw — and  drew  them  on. 

The  loose  boots  and  the  unaccustomed  weights  tangled 
his  feet  sadly,  as  he  went  on  down  the  ladder,  but  he  said 
not  a  word  to  his  grandfather,  who  was  far  too  dignified 
to  make  a  comment  on  the  borrowed  footgear. 

Again  outside  with  his  lantern,  the  boy  took  out  his 
pocketknife  and  felt  the  small  blade.  It  was  of  a  razor 
keenness.  Then  he  went  through  the  yard  behind  the 
house  to  the  big  henhouse,  where  the  chickens  sat  perched 
in  dense  rows.  He  raised  his  lantern;  at  once  scores  of 
tiny,  bright  eyes  flashed  back  at  him.  It  was  an  uncanny 
thing  to  see. 

But  Jud,  with  a  twisted  face  of  determination,  kept 
on  with  his  survey  until  he  saw  the  red  comb  and  the 
arched  tail  plumes  of  a  large  Plymouth  Rock  rooster. 

It  was  a  familiar  sight  to  Jud.  Of  all  the  chickens  on 
the  place  this  was  his  peculiar  property.  He  had  helped 
the  weakling  out  of  the  shell.  He  had  fed  him  through 
all  the  fluffy  and  gaunt  stages  of  a  rooster's  growth. 


JUD'S  SACRIFICE  163 

He  had  watched  with  enormous  pride  the  appearance  of 
the  big  spurs.  He  had  accompanied  with  a  beating  heart 
the  progress  of  the  rooster,  as  he  fought  his  way  against 
the  older  and  wiser  birds,  until  at  length,  by  sheer  strength 
of  leg  and  length  of  spur,  the  Plymouth  Rock  was  the 
undisputed  cock  of  the  walk.  And  now  Jud  had  deter- 
mined to  sacrifice  this  dearest  of  pets.  The  bay  mare 
herself  was  hardly  possessed  of  a  larger  share  of  his 
heart. 

The  old  rooster  was  so  accustomed  to  his  master,  in- 
deed, that  he  allowed  himself  to  be  taken  from  the  perch 
without  a  single  squawk,  and  there  was  no  sound  except 
the  rushing  of  his  wings  as  he  regained  his  balance  on 
the  wrist  of  Jud.  The  boy  took  his  captive  beyond  the 
pen.  Once,  when  the  big  rooster  canted  his  head  and 
looked  into  his  face  with  his  courageous  red  eyes,  the 
boy  had  to  wink  away  the  tears;  but  he  thought  of  the 
man  so  near  death  in  the  attic,  he  felt  the  clumsy  boots 
on  his  feet,  and  his  heart  grew  strong  again. 

He  went  around  to  the  front  of  the  house  and  by  the 
steps  he  fastened  on  the  long  neck  of  his  prisoner  a  grasp 
strong  enough  to  keep  him  silent  for  a  moment.  Then 
he  cut  the  rooster's  breast  deeply,  shuddering  as  he  felt 
the  knife  take  hold. 

Something  trickled  warmly  over  his  hands.  Drop- 
ping his  knife  in  his  pocket,  Jud  started,  walked  with 
steps  as  long  as  he  could  make  them.  He  went,  with 
the  spurs  chinking  to  keep  time  for  each  stride,  straight 
toward  a  cliff  some  hundreds  of  yards  from  the  house. 
The  blood  ran  freely.  The  old  rooster,  feeling  himself 
sicken,  sank  weakly  against  the  breast  of  the  boy,  and 
Jud  thought  that  his  heart  would  break.  He  reached 
the  sharp  edge  of  the  cliff  and  heard  the  rush  of  the  lit- 
tle river  far  below  him.  At  the  same  time  his  captive 


164  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

gave  one  final  flutter  of  the  wings,  one  feeble  crow,  and 
was  dead. 

Jud  waited  until  the  tears  had  cleared  from  his  eyes. 
Then  he  took  off  the  boots,  and,  in  bare  feet  that  would 
leave  no  trace  on  the  rocks,  he  skirted  swiftly  back  to 
the  house,  put  the  dead  body  back  in  the  chicken  yard, 
and  returned  to  his  grandfather. 

There  was  one  great  satisfaction  for  him  that  evening, 
one  reward  for  the  great  sacrifice,  and  it  came  imme- 
diately. He  saw  his  grandfather,  who  scorned  shows  of 
emotion,  come  from  his  chair  with  a  groan.  "Suffering 
saints,  boy,  have  you  been  playin'  dead  outlaw?  Suffer- 
ing saints,  Jud,  ain't  you  got  no  sense?" 

While  the  old  man  stood  trembling  before  him,  Jud 
told  his  story. 

It  was  a  rich  feast  indeed  to  see  the  relief,  the  aston- 
ishment, the  pride  come  in  swift  turns  upon  that  grim 
old  face. 

And  yet  in  the  end  Pop  was  able  to  muster  a  fairly 
good  imitation  of  a  frown. 

"And  here  you  come  back  with  a  shirt  and  a  pair  of 
trousers  plumb  spoiled  by  all  your  gallivantin',"  he  said, 
"not  speakin'  of  a  perfectly  good  chicken  killed.  Ain't 
you  never  goin'  to  get  grown  up,  Jud  ?" 

"He  was  mine,  the  chicken  I  killed,"  said  Jud,  choking. 

It  brought  a  pause  upon  the  talk.  The  other  was 
forced  to  wink  both  eyes  at  once  and  sigh. 

"The  big  speckled  feller  ?"  he  asked  more  gently. 

"The  Plymouth  Rock,"  said  Jud  fiercely.  "He  wasn't 
no  speckled  feller!  He  was  the  finest  rooster  and  the 
gamest " 

"Have  it  your  own  way,"  said  the  old  man.  "You 
got  your  grandma's  tongue  when  it  comes  to  arguin' 
fine  points.  Now  go  and  skin  out  of  them  clothes  and 


JUD'S  SACRIFICE  165 

come  back  and  see  that  you've  got  all  that — that  stuff 
off'n  your  face  and  hands." 

Jud  obeyed,  and  presently  reappeared  in  a  ragged  outfit, 
his  face  and  hands  red  from  scrubbing. 

"I  guess  maybe  it's  all  right,"  declared  the  old  man. 
"Only,  they's  risks  in  it.  Know  what's  apt  to  happen 
if  they  was  to  find  that  you'd  helped  to  get  a  outlaw  off 
free?" 

"What  would  it  be?"  asked  the  boy. 

"Oh,  nothin'  much.  Maybe  they'd  try  you  and  maybe 
they  wouldn't.  Anyways,  they'd  sure  wind  up  by  hangin' 
you  by  the  neck  till  you  was  as  dead  as  the  speckled 
rooster." 

"The  Plymouth  Rock,"  insisted  Jud  hotly. 

"All  right,  I  don't  argue  none.  But  you  just  done  a 
dangerous  thing,  Jud.  And  there'll  be  a  consid'able  pile 
of  men  here  in  the  mornin',  most  like,  to  ask  you  how 
and  why." 

He  was  astonished  to  hear  Jud  break  into  a  careless 
gale  of  laughter. 

"Hush  up,"  said  Pop.  "You'll  be  wakin'  him  up  with 
all  that  noise.  Besides,  what  d'you  mean  by  laughin'  at 
the  law?" 

"Why,  granddad,"  said  Jud,  "don't  I  know  you 
wouldn't  never  let  no  posse  take  me  from  you?  Don't 
I  know  maybe  you'd  clean  'em  all  up?" 

"Pshaw!"  said  Pop,  and  flushed  with  delight.  "You 
was  always  a  fool  kid,  Jud.  Now  you  run  along  to  bed." 

It  was  a  gloomy  hour,  always,  with  Jud,  and  now  he 
regarded  his  grandfather  with  a  wistful  eye. 

"Maybe,"  he  suggested  in  the  face  of  the  other's 
frown,  "I'd  better  stay  up — in  case  the  posse  should 
come  to-night  ?" 


166  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

The  hint  of  a  smile  twitched  at  the  corners  of  the  man's 
wide  mouth. 

"Pull  up  a  chair  beside  the  stove,  son,"  he  said.  "Next 
thing  I  know,  you'll  be  sittin'  up  smokin'  and  swappin' 
lies  with  me,  eh?" 

"Oh/'  said  Jud  cheerily,  "maybe  it  won't  be  so  long/' 

He  drew  up  his  chair  according  to  instructions  and  sat 
very  stiff  and  silent,  fearful  that  this  new  liberty  would 
be  soon  curtailed.  Presently  a  long,  bony  arm  went  out 
and  rested  around  his  shoulders. 

"I  been  thinkin'/'  observed  his  grandfather,  and  Jud 
was  as  still  as  a  mouse.  "I  been  thinkin'/'  went  on  the 
old  man,  "and  I  got  an  idea  maybe  you'd  like  to  hear. 
They's  a  place  in  Tomo  where  they  sell  chickens  and 
roosters  and  such.  And  the  last  time  I  was  in  town  I 
seen  some  of  these  speckled  chickens.  I'll  get  you  one 
when  I  go  in  next  time,  eh  ?" 

"Oh,  granddad/'  said  the  boy,  hurt,  "I  don't  never 
want  to  see  one  of  'em  again." 

"I  thought  you  liked  'em,  Jud?" 

"It  wasn't  the  color.     But  him  and  me  was  pals." 

"Pshaw7,"  said  the  man.  "Jud,  you  go  for  your  bed 
now.  Good  night." 

Jud  went  obediently  to  the  corner  of  the  room  to  his 
bunk,  and  his  grandfather  rose  and  stood  before  the 
open  door.  The  moonlight  was  softening  all  the  ragged 
outlines  of  the  hills,  as  with  a  great  mercy. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

A   MAN   OF  DOUBTS 

IN  Hal  Dozier  there  was  a  belief  that  the  end  justified 
the  means.  When  Hank  Rainer  sent  word  to  Tomo 
that  the  outlaw  was  in  his  cabin,  and,  if  the  posse  would 
gather,  he,  Hank,  would  come  out  of  his  cabin  that  night 
and  let  the  posse  rush  the  sleeping  man  who  remained, 
Hal  Dozier  was  willing  and  eager  to  take  advantage  of 
the  opportunity.  A  man  of  action  by  nature  and  incli- 
nation, Dozier  had  built  a  great  repute  as  a  hunter  of 
criminals,  and  he  had  been  known  to  take  single-handed 
chances  against  the  most  desperate ;  but  when  it  was  pos- 
sible Hal  Dozier  played  a  safe  game. 

He  understood  the  Napoleonic  maxim  that  the  side 
which  puts  the  greatest  number  of  units  at  the  point  of 
contact  will  be  practically  sure  to  win,  and,  when  he 
could  use  two  men  to  do  the  work  of  one  man,  Hal  did  it. 
And  if  he  could  get  twenty,  so  much  the  better.  In  a 
crisis  he  was  willing  and  able  to  do  his  work  alone,  but, 
by  the  time  he  had  accumulated  half  a  dozen  scars  repre- 
senting half  a  dozen  battles  in  his  early  life,  he  reached 
the  conclusion  that  sooner  or  later  one  of  his  enemies 
was  bound  to  kill  him.  The  law  of  chance  of  itself  con- 
demned him.  And  though  the  people  of  the  mountain 
desert  considered  him  invincible,  because  he  had  run 
down  some  dozen  notorious  fighters,  Hal  himself  felt 
that  this  simply  increased  the  chances  that  the  thirteenth 
man,  by  luck  or  by  cunning,  would  strike  him  down. 

Therefore  he  played  safe  always.     On  this  occasion 


i68  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

he  made  surety  doubly  sure.  He  could  have  taken  two 
or  three  known  men,  and  they  would  have  been  ample 
to  do  the  work.  Instead,  he  picked  out  half  a  dozen. 
For  just  as  Henry  Allister  had  recognized  that  inde- 
scribable element  of  danger  in  the  new  outlaw,  so  the 
man  hunter  himself  had  felt  it.  On  the  one  hand,  he 
knew  the  fighting  qualities  of  the  Lanning  blood.  On 
the  other  hand,  he  had  seen  Andrew  Lanning  face  to 
face  and  had  watched  both  his  eye  and  his  hand.  Dur- 
ing that  interview  in  the  room  of  Hal  Dozier,  if  there 
had  been  one  instant  during  which  both  eye  and  hand 
had  wavered,  Andrew  would  have  been  a  dead  man ;  but, 
though  the  eye  might  change,  the  hand  was  never  re- 
laxed. Thinking  of  these  things,  Hal  Dozier  determined 
that  he  would  not  tempt  Providence.  He  had  his  com- 
mission as  a  deputy  marshal,  and  as  such  he  swore  in  his 
men  and  started  for  the  cabin  of  Hank  Rainer. 

When  the  news  had  spread,  others  came  to  join  him, 
and  he  could  not  refuse.  Before  the  cavalcade  entered 
the  mouth  of  the  canon  he  had  some  thirty  men  about 
him.  They  were  all  good  men,  but  in  a  fight,  particu- 
larly a  fight  at  night,  Hal  Dozier  knew  that  numbers  to 
excess  are  apt  to  simply  clog  the  working  parts  of  the 
machine.  All  that  he  feared  came  to  pass.  There  was 
one  breathless  moment  of  joy  when  the  horse  of  Andrew 
was  shot  down  and  the  fugitive  himself  staggered  under 
the  fire  of  the  posse.  At  that  moment  Hal  had  poised 
his  rifle  for  a  shot  that  would  end  this  long  trail,  but  at 
that  moment  a  yelling  member  of  his  own  group  had 
come  between  him  and  his  target,  and  the  chance  was 
gone.  When  he  leaped  to  one  side  to  make  the  shot, 
Andrew  was  already  among  the  trees. 

Afterward  he  had  sent  his  men  in  a  circle  to  close  in 
on  the  spot  from  which  the  outlaw  made  his  stand,  but 


A  MAN  OF  DOUBTS  169 

they  had  closed  on  empty  shadows — the  fugitive  had 
escaped,  leaving  a  trail  of  blood.  However,  it  was  hardly 
safe  to  take  that  trail  in  the  night,  and  practically  impos- 
sible until  the  sunlight  came  to  follow  the  sign.  So  Hal 
Dozier  had  the  three  wounded  men  taken  back  to  the 
cabin  of  Hank  Rainer. 

The  stove  was  piled  with  wood  until  the  top  was  white 
hot,  and  then  the  posse  sat  about  on  the  floor,  crowding 
the  room  and  waiting  for  the  dawn.  The  three  wounded 
men  were  made  as  comfortable  as  possible.  One  had 
been  shot  through  the  hip,  a  terrible  wound  that  would 
probably  stiffen  his  leg  for  life;  another  had  gone  down 
with  a  wound  along  the  shin  bone  which  kept  him  in  a 
constant  torture.  The  third  man  was  hit  cleanly  through 
the  thigh,  and,  though  he  had  bled  profusely  for  some 
time,  he  was  now  only  weak,  and  in  a  few  weeks  he 
would  be  perfectly  sound  again.  The  hard  breathing 
of  the  three  was  the  only  sound  in  that  dim  room  during 
the  rest  of  the  night.  The  story  of  Hank  Rainer  had 
been  told  in  half  a  dozen  words.  Lanning  had  suspected 
him,  stuck  him  up  at  the  point  of  a  gun,  and  tlien — re- 
fused to  kill  him,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  knew  he 
was  betrayed.  After  his  explanation  Hank  withdrew  to 
the  darkest  corner  of  the  room  and  was  silent.  From 
time  to  time  looks  went  toward  that  corner,  and  one 
thought  was  in  every  mind.  This  fellow,  who  had  offered 
to  take  money  for  a  guest,  was  damned  for  life  and 
branded.  Thereafter  no  one  would  trust  him,  no  one 
would  change  words  with  him;  he  was  an  outcast,  a 
social  leper.  And  Hank  Rainer  knew  it  as  well  as  any 
man. 

A  cloud  of  tobacco  smoke  became  dense  in  the  room, 
and  a  halo  surrounded  the  lantern  on  the  wall.  Then 
one  by  one  men  got  up  and  muttered  something  about 


i;o  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

being  done  with  the  party,  or  having  to  be  at  work  in 
the  morning,  and  stamped  out  of  the  room  and  went 
down  the  ravine  to  the  place  where  the  horses  had  been 
tethered.  The  first  thrill  of  excitement  was  gone. 
Moreover,  it  was  no  particular  pleasure  to  close  in  on  a 
wounded  man  who  lay  somewhere  among  the  rocks, 
without  a  horse  to  carry  him  far,  and  too  badly  wounded 
to  shift  his  position.  Yet  he  could  lie  in  his  shelter, 
whatever  clump  of  bowlders  he  chose,  and  would  make 
it  hot  for  the  men  who  tried  to  rout  him  out.  The 
heavy  breathing  of  the  three  wounded  men  gave  point 
to  these  thoughts,  and  the  men  of  family  and  the  men 
of  little  heart  got  up  and  left  the  posse. 

The  sheriff  made  no  attempt  to  keep  them.  He  re- 
tained his  first  hand-picked  group.  In  the  gray  of  the 
morning  he  rallied  these  men  again.  They  went  first 
to  the  dead,  stiff  body  of  the  chestnut  gelding  and  stripped 
it  of  the  saddle  and  the  pack  of  Lanning.  This,  by  silent 
consent,  was  to  be  the  reward  of  the  trapper.  This  was 
his  in  lieu  of  the  money  which  he  would  have  earned  if 
they  had  killed  Lanning  on  the  spot.  Hal  Dozier  stiffly 
invited  Hank  to  join  them  in  the  man  hunt;  he  was  met 
by  a  solemn  silence,  and  the  request  was  not  repeated. 
Dozier  had  done  a  disagreeable  duty,  and  the  whole 
posse  was  glad  to  be  free  of  the  traitor.  In  the  mean- 
time the  morning  was  brightening  rapidly,  and  Dozier 
led  out  his  men. 

They  went  to  their  horses,  and,  coming  back  to  the 
place  where  Andrew  had  made  his  halt  and  fired  his 
three  shots,  they  took  up  the  trail. 

It  was  as  easy  to  read  as  a  book.  The  sign  was  never 
wanting  for  more  than  three  steps  at  a  time,  and  Hal 
Dozier,  reading  skillfully,  watched  the  decreasing  dis- 
tance between  heel  indentations,  a  sure  si&n  that  the 


A  MAN  OF  DOUBTS  171 

fugitive  was  growing  weak  from  the  loss  of  the  blood 
that  spotted  the  trail.  Straight  on  to  the  doorstep  of 
Pop's  cabin  went  the  trail.  Dozier  rapped  at  the  door, 
and  the  old  man  himself  appeared.  The  bony  fingers 
of  one  hand  were  wrapped  around  the  corncob,  which 
was  his  inseparable  companion,  and  in  the  other  he  held 
the  cloth  with  which  he  had  been  drying  dishes.  Jud, 
standing  on  a  box  to  bring  him  above  the  level  of  the 
sink,  turned  from  his  pan  of  dishwater  to  cast  a  fright- 
ened glance  over  his  shoulder.  Pop  did  not  wait  for 
explanations. 

"Come  in,  Dozier,"  he  invited.  "Come  in,  boys. 
Glad  to  see  you.  I  know  what  you're  after,  and  it's 
pretty  good  to  see  you  here.  Ain't  particular  comfortable 
for  an  oldster  like  me  when  they's  a  full-grown,  man- 
eatin'  outlaw  lyin'  about  the  grounds.  This  Lanning 
come  to  my  door  last  night.  Me  and  Jud  was  sittin'  by 
the  stove.  He  wanted  to  get  us  to  bandage  him  up, 
but  I  yanked  my  gun  ofFn  the  wall  and  ordered  him 
away." 

"You  got  your  gun  on  Lanning — off  the  wall — be- 
fore he  had  you  covered?"  asked  Hal  Dozier  with  a 
singular  smile. 

"Oh,  I  ain't  so  slow  with  my  hands,"  declared  Pop. 
"I  ain't  half  so  old  as  I  look,  son!  Besides,  he  was 
bleedin'  to  death  and  crazy  in  the  head.  I  don't  figure 
he  even  thought  about  his  gun  just  then." 

"Why  didn't  you  shoot  him  down,  Pop?  Or  take 
him?  There's  money  in  him." 

"Don't  I  know  it?  Ain't  I  seen  the  posters?  But 
I  wasn't  for  pressin'  things  too  hard.  Not  me  at  my  age, 
with  Jud  along.  I  ordered  him  away  and  let  him  go. 
He  went  down  yonder.  Oh,  you  won't  have  far  to  go. 
He  was  about  all  in  when  he  left.  But  I  ain't  been  out 


172  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

lookin'  around  yet  this  morning.     I  know  the  feel  of  a 
forty-five  slug  in  your  inwards." 

He  placed  a  hand  upon  his  stomach,  and  a  growl  of 
amusement  went  through  the  posse.  After  all,  Pop  was 
a  known  man.  In  the  meantime  some  one  had  picked  up 
the  trail  to  the  cliff,  and  Dozier  followed  it.  They  went 
along  the  heel  marks  to  a  place  where  blood  had  spurted 
liberally  over  the  ground.  "Must  have  had  a  hemor- 
rhage here,"  said  Dozier.  "No,  we  won't  have  far  to 
go.  Poor  devil !" 

And  then  they  came  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  where 
the  heel  marks  ended.  "He  walked  straight  over,"  said 
one  of  the  men.  rThink  o'  that !" 

"No,"  exclaimed  Dozier,  who  was  on  his  knees  exam- 
ining the  marks,  "he  stood  here  a  minute  or  so.  First  he 
shifted  to  one  foot,  and  then  he  shifted  his  weight  to 
the  other.  And  his  boots  were  turning  in.  Queer.  I 
suppose  his  knees  were  buckling.  He  saw  he  was  due 
to  bleed  to  death  and  he  took  a  shorter  way!  Plain 
suicide.  Look  down,  boys !  See  anything?" 

There  was  a  jumble  of  sharp  rocks  at  the  base  of  the 
cliff,  and  the  water  of  the  stream  very  close.  Nothing 
showed  on  the  rocks,  nothing  showed  on  the  face  of  the 
cliff.  They  found  a  place  a  short  distance  to  the  right 
and  lowered  a  man  down  with  the  aid  of  a  rope.  He 
looked  about  among  the  rocks.  Then  he  ran  down  the 
stream  for  some  distance.  He  came  back  with  a  glum 
face. 

There  was  no  sign  of  the  body  of  Andrew  Lanning 
among  the  rocks.  Looking  up  to  the  top  of  the  cliff, 
from  the  place  where  he  stood,  he  figured  that  a  man 
could  have  jumped  clear  of  the  rocks  by  a  powerful  leap 
and  might  have  struck  in  the  swift  current  of  the  stream. 
There  was  no  trace  of  the  body  in  the  waters,  no  drop 


A  MAN  OF  DOUBTS  173 

of  blood  on  the  rocks.  But  then  the  water  ran  here  at 
a  terrific  rate;  the  scout  had  watched  a  heavy  bowlder 
moved  while  he  stood  there.  He  went  down  the  bank 
and  came  at  once  to  a  deep  pool,  over  which  the  water 
was  swirling.  He  sounded  that  pool  with  a  long  branch 
and  found  no  bottom. 

"And  that  makes  it  clear,"  he  said,  "that  the  body 
went  down  the  water,  came  to  that  pool,  was  sucked 
down,  and  got  lodged  in  the  rocks.  Anybody  differ? 
No,  gents,  Andrew  Lanning  is  food  for  the  trout.  And 
I  say  it's  the  best  way  out  of  the  job  for  all  of  us/5 

But  Hal  Dozier  was  a  man  full  of  doubts.  "There's 
only  one  other  thing  possible,"  he  said.  "He  might  have 
turned  aside  at  the  house  of  Pop.  He  may  be  there 
now/' 

"But  don't  the  trail  come  here?  And  is  there  any 
back  trail  to  the  house?"  one  of  the  men  protested. 

"It  doesn't  look  possible,"  nodded  Hal  Dozier,  "but 
queer  things  are  apt  to  happen.  Let's  go  back  and  have 
a  look/' 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

BY  A  SPIDER   THREAD 

HE  dismounted  and  gave  his  horse  to  one  of  the  oth- 
ers, telling  them  that  he  would  do  the  scouting 
himself  this  time,  and  he  went  back  on  foot  to  the  house 
of  Pop.  He  made  his  steps  noiseless  as  he  came  closer, 
not  that  he  expected  to  surprise  Pop  to  any  purpose,  but 
the  natural  instinct  of  the  trailer  made  him  advance  with 
caution,  and,  when  he  was  close  enough  to  the  door  he 
heard:  "Oh,  he's  a  clever  gent,  well  enough,  but  they 
ain't  any  of  'em  so  clever  that  they  can't  learn  some- 
thin*  new."  Hal  Dozier  paused  with  his  hand  raised  to 
rap  at  the  door  and  he  heard  Pop  say  in  continuation: 
"You  write  this  down  in  red,  sonny,  and  don't  you  never 
forget  it:  The  wisest  gent  is  the  gent  that  don't  take 
nothin'  for  granted." 

It  came  to  Hal  Dozier  that,  if  he  delayed  his  entrance 
for  another  moment,  he  might  hear  something  distinctly 
to  his  advantage;  but  his  role  of  eavesdropper  did  not 
fit  with  his  broad  shoulders,  and,  after  knocking  on  the 
door,  he  stepped  in.  Pop  was  putting  away  the  dishes, 
and  Jud  was  scrubbing  out  the  sink. 

"The  boys  are  working  up  the  trail,"  said  Hal  Dozier, 
"but  they  can  do  it  by  themselves.  I  know  that  the  trail 
ends  at  the  cliff.  I'll  tell  you  that  poor  kid  walked  to 
the  edge  of  the  cliff,  stopped  there  a  minute,  made  up  his 
mind  that  he  was  bleeding  to  death,  and  then  cut  it  short. 
He  jumped,  missed  the  rocks  underneath,  and  was  car- 


BY  A  SPIDER  THREAD  175 

ried  off  by  the  river."  Dozier  followed  up  his  state- 
ment with  some  curse  words. 

He  watched  the  face  of  the  other  keenly,  but  the  old 
man  was  busy  filling  his  pipe.  His  eyebrows,  to  be 
sure,  flicked  up  as  he  heard  this  tragedy  announced,  and 
there  was  a  breath  from  Jud.  "I'll  tell  you,  Dozier," 
said  the  other,  lighting  his  pipe  and  then  tamping  the  red- 
hot  coals  with  his  calloused  forefinger,  "I'm  kind  of  par- 
ticular about  the  way  people  cusses  around  Jud.  He's 
kind  of  young,  and  they  ain't  any  kind  of  use  of  him 
litterin*  up  his  mind  with  useless  words.  Don't  mean 
no  offense  to  you,  Dozier." 

The  deputy  officer  took  a  chair  and  tipped  it  back 
against  the  wall.  He  felt  that  he  had  been  thoroughly 
checkmated  in  his  first  move ;  and  yet  he  sensed  an  atmos- 
phere of  suspicion  in  this  little  house.  It  lingered  in 
the  air.  No  doubt  it  was  all  created  by  the  words  he 
had  overheard  before  he  entered.  Also,  he  noted  that 
Jud  was  watching  him  with  rather  wide  eyes  and  a  face 
of  unhealthy  pallor;  but  that  might  very  well  be  because 
of  the  awe  which  the  youngster  felt  in  beholding  Hal 
Dozier,  the  man  hunter,  at  close  range.  All  these  things 
were  decidedly  small  clews,  but  the  marshal  was  accus- 
tomed to  acting  on  hints. 

In  the  meantime,  Pop,  having  put  away  the  last  of  the 
dishes  in  a  cupboard,  whose  shelves  were  lined  with 
fresh  white  paper,  offered  Dozier  a  cup  of  coffee.  While 
he  sipped  it,  the  marshal  complimented  his  host  on  the 
precision  with  which  he  maintained  his  house. 

"It  looks  like  a  woman's  hand  had  been  at  work," 
concluded  the  marshal. 

"Something  better'n  that,"  declared  the  other.  "A 
man's  hand,  Dozier.  People  has  an  idea  that  because 
women  mostly  do  housework  men  are  out  of  place  in  a 


176  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

kitchen.  It  ain't  so.  Men  just  got  somethin'  more 
important  on  their  hands  most  of  the  time."  His  eyes 
glanced  sadly  toward  his  gun  rack.  "Women  is  a  pile 
overpraised,  Dozier.  The  point  is,  they  chatter  a  con- 
sid'able  lot  about  how  hard  they  work,  and  they  all  got 
a  favorite  way  of  making  jelly  or  bakin'  bread  or  sewin' 
calico.  But  I  ask  you,  man  to  man,  did  you  ever  see  a 
cleaner  floor  than  that  in  a  woman's  kitchen?" 

The  marshal  admitted  that  he  never  had.  "But  you're 
a  rare  man,"  he  said. 

Pop  shook  his  head.  "When  I  was  a  boy  like  you," 
he  said,  "I  wasn't  nothin'  to  be  passed  up  too  quick.  But 
a  man's  young  only  once,  and  that's  a  short  time — and 
he's  old  for  years  and  years  and  years,  Dozier."  He 
added,  for  fear  that  he  might  have  depressed  his  guest. 
"But  me  and  Jud  team  it,  you  see.  I'm  extra  old  and 
Jud's  extra  young — so  we  kind  of  hit  an  average." 

He  touched  the  shoulder  of  the  boy  and  there  was 
a  flash  of  eyes  between  them,  the  flicker  of  a  smile. 
Hal  Dozier  drew  a  breath.  "I  got  no  kids  of  my  own," 
he  declared.  "You're  lucky,  friend.  And  you're  lucky 
to  have  this  neat  little  house." 

"No,  I  ain't.  They's  no  luck  to  it,  because  I  made 
every  sliver  of  it  with  my  own  hands." 

An  idea  came  to  the  deputy  marshal. 

"There's  a  place  up  in  the  hills  behind  my  house,  a 
day's  ride,"  he  said,  "where  I  go  hunting  now  and  then, 
and  I've  an  idea  a  little  house  like  this  would  be  just  the 
thing  for  me.  Mind  if  I  look  it  over?" 

Pop  tamped  his  pipe. 

"Sure  thing,"  he  said.     "Look  as  much  as  you  like." 

He  stepped  to  a  corner  of  the  room  and  by  a  ring  he 
raised  a  trapdoor.  "I  got  a  cellar  'n'  everything.  Take 
a  look  at  it  below." 


BY  A  SPIDER  THREAD  177 

He  lighted  the  lantern,  and  Hal  Dozier  went  down 
the  steep  steps,  humming.  "Look  at  the  way  that  foun- 
dation's put  in,"  said  the  old  man  in  a  loud  voice.  "I 
done  all  that,  too,  with  my  own  hands." 

His  voice  was  so  unnecessarily  loud,  indeed,  just  as 
if  the  deputy  were  already  under  ground,  that  it  occurred 
to  Dozier  that  if  a  man  were  lying  in  that  cellar  he 
would  be  amply  warned.  And  going  down  he  walked 
with  the  lantern  held  to  one  side,  to  keep  the  light  off 
his  own  body  as  much  as  possible;  his  hand  kept  at  his 
hip. 

But,  when  he  reached  the  cellar,  he  found  only  some 
boxes  and  canned  provisions  in  a  rack  at  one  side,  and 
a  various  litter  all  kept  in  close  order.  Big  stones  had 
been  chiseled  roughly  into  shape  to  build  the  walls,  and 
the  flooring  was  as  dry  as  the  floor  of  the  house.  It 
was,  on  the  whole,  a  very  solid  bit  of  work.  A  good 
place  to  imprison  a  man,  for  instance.  At  this  thought 
Dozier  glanced  up  sharply  and  saw  the  other  holding 
the  trapdoor  ajar.  Something  about  that  implacable, 
bony  face  made  Dozier  turn  and  hurry  back  up  the  stairs 
to  the  main  floor  of  the  house. 

"Nice  bit  of  work  down  there,"  he  said.  "I  can  use 
that  idea  very  well.  Well,"  he  added  carelessly,  "I  won- 
der when  my  fool  posse  will  get  through  hunting  for 
the  remains  of  poor  Lanning?  Come  to  think  of  it" — 
for  it  occurred  to  him  that  if  the  old  man  were  indeed 
concealing  the  outlaw  he  might  not  know  the  price  which 
was  on  his  head — "there's  a  pretty  little  bit  of  coin  con- 
nected with  Lanning.  Too  bad  you  didn't  drop  him 
when  he  came  to  your  door." 

"Drop  a  helpless  man — for  money?"  asked  the  old 
man.  "Never,  Dozier!" 

"He  hadn't  long  to  live,  anyway,"  answered  the  mar- 


178  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

shal  in  some  confusion.  Those  old,  straight  eyes  of  Pop 
troubled  him. 

He  fenced  with  a  new  stroke  for  a  confession. 

"For  my  part,  I've  never  had  much  heart  in  this  work 
of  mine/' 

"He  killed  your  brother,  didn't  he?"  asked  Pop  with 
considerable  dryness. 

"Bill  made  the  wrong  move,"  replied  Hal  instantly. 
"He  never  should  have  ridden  Lanning  down  in  the  first 
place.  Should  have  let  the  fool  kid  go  until  he  found 
out  that  Buck  Heath  wasn't  killed.  Then  he  would 
have  come  back  of  his  own  accord." 

"That's  a  good  idea,"  remarked  the  other,  "but  sort 
of  late,  it  strikes  me.  Did  you  tell  that  to  the  sheriff?" 

"Late  it  is,"  remarked  Dozier,  not  following  the  ques- 
tion. "Now  the  poor  kid  is  outlawed.  Well,  between 
you  and  me,  I  wish  he'd  gotten  away  clean-handed.  As 
I  said  before,  my  heart  isn't  in  this  trail.  But  too  late 
now." 

"Who  had  him  outlawed?  Who  put  it  up  to  the 
governor?"  asked  Pop  shrewdly. 

And  Hal  Dozier  had  to  turn  his  head  and  cough,  for 
he  found  his  stroke  parried  and  the  point  placed  at  his 
.  own  breast. 

"By  the  way,"  he  went  on,  "I'd  like  to  take  a  squint  at 
your  attic,  too.  That  ladder  goes  up  to  it,  I  guess." 

"Go  ahead,"  said  Pop.  And  once  more  he  tamped  his 
pipe. 

There  was  a  sharp,  shrill  cry  from  the  boy,  and  Dozier 
whirled  on  him.  He  saw  a  pale,  scared  face,  with  the 
freckles  standing  out  more  rusty  than  ever,  and  the  eyes 
painfully  wide. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked  sharply.     "What's  the 


BY  A  SPIDER  THREAD  179 

matter  with  you,  Jud?"  And  he  fastened  his  keen  glance 
on  the  boy. 

Vaguely,  from  the  corner  of  his  eye,  he  felt  that  Pop 
had  taken  the  pipe  from  his  mouth.  There  was  a  sort  of 
breathless  touch  in  the  air  of  the  room. 

"Nothin',"  said  Jud.  "Only — you  know  the  rungs  of 
that  ladder  ain't  fit  to  be  walked  on,  grandad !" 

"Jud,"  said  the  old  man  with  a  strained  tone,  "It  ain't 
my  business  to  give  warnin's  to  an  officer  of  the  law — 
not  mine.  He'll  find  out  little  things  like  that  for  him- 
self." 

For  one  moment  Dozier  remained  looking  from  one 
face  to  the  other.  He  would  have  given  a  great  deal  if 
he  could  have  made  the  child  meet  his  glance  at  that  mo- 
ment, but  the  boy  was  looking  steadily  at  his  grandfather. 
Then  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  went  slowly  up  the 
ladder.  It  squeaked  under  his  weight,  he  felt  the  rungs 
bow  and  tremble.  Halfway  up  he  turned  suddenly,  but 
Pop  was  sitting  as  old  men  will,  humming  a  tune  and 
keeping  time  to  it  by  patting  the  bowl  of  his  pipe  with  a 
forefinger. 

And  Dozier  made  up  his  mind. 

He  turned  and  came  down  the  ladder.  "I  guess 
there's  no  use  looking  in  the  attic/'  he  said.  "Same  as 
any  other  attic,  I  suppose,  Pop?" 

"The  same?"  asked  Pop,  taking  the  pipe  from  his 
mouth.  "I  should  tell  a  man  it  ain't.  It's  my  work,  that 
attic  is,  and  it's  different.  But  seein'  it's  you,  Dozier, 
I'll  let  you  copy  it.  Better  go  up  and  see  how  it's  done. 
I  handled  the  joinin'  of  them  joists  pretty  slick,  but  you 
better  go  and  see  for  yourself." 

And  he  smiled  at  the  deputy  from  under  his  bushy 
brows.  Hal  Dozier  grinned  broadly  back  at  him. 

"I've  seen  your  work  in  the  cellar,  Pop,"  he  said. 


i8o  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

"But  nothin'  to  compare  to  the  work  you'd  see  in  the 
attic.  That'll  give  you  somethin'  worth  talkin'  about. 
Ain't  you  goin'  to  go  up  ?" 

"I  don't  want  to  risk  my  neck  on  that  ladder,  for  one 
thing.  No,  I'll  have  to  let  it  go.  Besides,  Til  have  to 
round  up  the  boys." 

He  waved  farewell,  stepped  through  the  door,  and 
closed  it  behind  him. 

"Grandad,"  exclaimed  Jud  in  a  gasp. 

The  old  man  silenced  him  with  a  raised  finger  and  a 
sudden  frown.  He  slipped  to  the  door  in  turn  with  a 
step  so  noiseless  that  even  Jud  wondered.  Years  seemed 
to  have  fallen  from  the  shoulders  of  his  grandfather. 
He  opened  the  door  quickly,  and  there  stood  the  deputy. 
His  back,  to  be  sure,  was  turned  to  the  door,  but  he  hadn't 
moved. 

"Think  I  see  your  gang  over  yonder,"  said  Pop. 
"They  seem  to  be  sort  of  waitin'  for  you,  Dozier." 

The  other  turned  and  twisted  one  glance  up  at  the  old 
man. 

"Thanks,"  he  said  shortly  and  strode  away. 

Pop  closed  the  door  and  sank  into  a  chair.  He  seemed 
suddenly  to  have  aged  again. 

"Oh,  grandad,"  said  Jud,  "how'd  you  guess  he  was 
there  all  the  time?" 

"I  dunno,"  said  Pop.     "Don't  bother  me." 

"But  why'd  you  beg  him  to  look  into  the  attic? 
Didn't  you  know  he'd  see  him  right  off?" 

"Because  he  goes  by  contraries,  Jud.  He  wouldn't  of 
started  for  the  ladder  at  all,  if  you  hadn't  told  him  he'd 
probably  break  his  neck  on  it.  Only  when  he  seen  I 
didn't'  care,  he  made  up  his  mind  he  didn't  want  to  see 
that  attic." 

"And  if  he'd  gone  up?"  whispered  Jud. 


BY  A  SPIDER  THREAD  181 

"Don't  ask  me  what  would  of  happened,"  said  Pop. 

All  his  bony  frame  was  shaken  by  a  shiver. 

"Is  he  such  a  fine  fighter?"  asked  Jud. 

"Fighter?"  echoed  Pop.  "Oh,  lad,  he's  the  greatest 
hand  with  a  gun  that  ever  shoved  foot  into  stirrup.  He 
— he  was  like  a  bulldog  on  a  trail — and  all  I  had  for  a 
rope  to  hold  him  was  just  a  little  spider  thread  of  think- 
ing. Gimme  some  coffee,  Jud.  I've  done  a  day's  work." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE   WOOING  OF  SALLY 

THE  bullets  of  the  posse  had  neither  torn  a  tendon 
nor  broken  a  bone.  Striking  at  close  range  and 
driven  by  high-power  rifles,  the  slugs  had  whipped  cleanly 
through  the  flesh  of  Andrew  Lanning,  and  the  flesh 
closed  again,  almost  as  swiftly  as  ice  freezes  firm  behind 
the  wire  that  cuts  it.  In  a  very  few  days  he  could  sit 
up,  and  finally  came  down  the  ladder  with  a  rather  tot- 
tering step,  Pop  beneath  him  and  Jud  steadying  his 
shoulders  from  above.  That  was  a  gala  day  in  the  house. 
Indeed,  they  had  lived  well  ever  since  the  coming  of 
Andrew,  for  he  had  insisted  that  he  bear  the  household 
expense  while  he  remained  there,  since  they  would  not 
allow  him  to  depart. 

"And  I'll  let  you  pay  for  things,  Andrew,"  Pop  had 
said,  "if  you  won't  say  nothing  about  it,  ever,  to  Jud. 
He's  a  proud  kid,  is  Jud,  and  he'd  bust  his  heart  if  he 
thought  I  was  lettin'  you  spend  a  cent  here." 

But  this  day  they  had  a  fine  steak,  brought  out  from 
Tomo  by  Pop  the  evening  before,  and  they  had  French- 
fried  potatoes  and  store  candy  and  beans  with  plenty  of 
pork  and  molasses  in  them,  cream  biscuits,  which  Pop 
could  make  delicious  beyond  belief,  to  say  nothing  of 
canned  tomatoes  with  bits  of  dried  bread  in  them,  and 
coffee  as  black  as  night.  Such  was  the  celebration  when 
Andrew  came  down  to  join  his  hosts,  and  so  high  did  all 
spirits  rise  that  even  Jud,  the  resolute  and  the  alert, 
forgot  his  watch.  Every  day  from  dawn  to  dark  he 


THE  WOOING  OF  SALLY  183 

was  up  to  the  door  or  to  the  rear  window,  keeping  the 
landscape  under  a  sweeping  observance  every  few  mo- 
ments, lest  some  chance  traveler — all  search  for  Andrew 
Lanning  had,  of  course,  ceased  with  the  moment  of  his 
disappearance — should  happen  by  and  see  the  stranger 
in  the  household  of  Pop.  But  during  these  festivities 
all  else  was  forgotten,  and  in  the  midst  of  things  a  de- 
cided, rapid  knock  was  heard  at  the  door. 

Speech  was  cut  off  at  the  root  by  that  sound.  For 
whoever  the  stranger  might  be,  he  must  certainly  have 
heard  three  voices  raised  in  that  room.  It  was  Andrew 
who  spoke.  And  he  spoke  in  only  a  whisper.  "Who- 
ever it  may  be,  let  him  in,"  said  Andrew,  "and,  if  there's 
any  danger  about  him,  he  won't  leave  till  I'm  able  to 
leave.  Open  the  door,  Jud." 

And  Jud,  with  a  stricken  look,  crossed  the  floor  with 
trailing  feet.  The  knock  was  repeated ;  it  had  a  metallic 
clang,  as  though  the  man  outside  were  rapping  with  the 
butt  of  a  gun  in  his  impatience,  and  Andrew,  setting  his 
teeth,  laid  his  hand  on  the  handle  of  his  revolver.  Here 
Jud  cast  open  the  door,  and,  standing  close  to  it  with  her 
forefeet  on  the  top  step,  was  the  bay  mare.  She  in- 
stantly thrust  in  her  head  and  snorted  in  the  direction 
of  the  stranger. 

"Thank  Heaven!"  said  Andrew.  "I  thought  it  was 
the  guns  again!"  And  Jud,  shouting  with  delight  and 
relief,  threw  his  arms  around  the  neck  of  the  horse.  "It's 
Sally !"  he  said.  "Sally,  you  rascal !" 

"That  good-for-nothing  hoss  Sally,"  complained  the 
old  man.  "Shooter  away,  Jud." 

But  Andrew  protested  at  that,  and  Jud  cast  him  a 
glance  of  gratitude.  Andrew  himself  got  up  from  the 
table  and  went  across  the  room  with  feeble  steps,  half 
of  an  apple  in  his  hand.  He  sliced  it  into  bits,  and  she 


184  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

took  them  daintily  from  between  his  fingers.  And  when 
Jud  reluctantly  ordered  her  away  she  did  not  blunder 
down  the  steps,  but  threw  her  weight  back  on  her 
haunches  and  swerved  lightly  away.  It  fascinated  An- 
drew; he  had  never  seen  so  much  of  feline  control  in 
the  muscles  of  a  horse.  He  felt  that  the  animal,  if  she 
chose,  could  walk  across  gravel  without  making  any 
more  sound  that  a  mountain  lion.  When  he  turned  back 
to  the  table  he  announced:  "Pop,  I've  got  to  ride  that 
horse.  I've  got  to  have  her.  How  does  she  sell  ?" 
"She  ain't  mine/'  said  Pop.  "You  better  ask  Jud." 
Jud  was  at  once  white  and  red.  In  the  long  hours 
during  which  he  had  sat  beside  the  bunk  of  Andrew  in 
the  room  above,  the  outlaw  had  come  to  fill  his  mind  as 
a  perfect  specimen  of  what  a  man  should  be.  He  looked 
at  his  hero,  and  then  he  looked  into  his  mind  and  saw 
the  picture  of  Sally.  A  way  out  occurred  to  him.  "You 
can  have  her  when  you  can  ride  her,"  he  said.  "She 
ain't  much  use  except  to  look  at.  But  if  you  can  saddle 
her  and  ride  her  before  you  leave — well,  you  can  leave 
on  her,  Andy." 

It  was  the  beginning  of  busy  days  for  Andrew.  The 
cold  weather  was  coming  on  rapidly.  Now  and  then 
they  had  a  flurry  of  snow,  and,  though  it  melted  as  soon 
as  it  reached  the  ground,  the  higher  mountains  above 
them  were  swiftly  whitening,  while  the  line  of  the  snow 
was  creeping  nearer  and  nearer.  The  sight  of  it  alarmed 
Andrew,  and,  with  the  thought  of  being  snowbound  in 
these  hills,  his  blood  turned  cold.  What  he  yearned  for 
were  the  open  spaces  of  the  mountain  desert,  where  he 
could  see  the  enemy  approach.  But  every  day  in  the 
cabin  the  terror  grew  that  some  one  would  pass,  some 
one,  unnoticed,  would  observe  the  stranger.  The  whis- 
per would  reach  Tomo — the  posse  would  come  again, 


THE  WOOING  OF  SALLY  185 

and  the  second  time  the  trap  was  sure  to  work.  He 
must  get  away,  but  no  ordinary  horse  would  do  for  him. 
If  he  had  had  a  fine  animal  under  him  Bill  Dozier  would 
never  have  run  him  down,  and  he  would  still  be  within 
the  border  of  the  law.  A  fine  horse — such  a  horse  as 
Sally,  say! 

Once  he  had  connected  her  with  his  hope  of  freedom, 
he  felt  a  tremendous  urge  to  back  her,  and,  besides,  she 
had  fitted  into  his  mind  the  first  moment  he  saw  her,  as 
a  girl's  face  fits  into  the  mind  of  an  impressionable  boy 
— there  was  Andrew's  idea  of  a  horse.  No  matter  what 
experts  may  say,  men  are  born  with  prejudices  in  horse- 
flesh. 

If  he  had  been  strong  he  would  have  attempted  to 
break  her  at  once,  but  he  was  not  strong.  He  could 
barely  support  his  own  weight  during  the  first  couple  of 
days  after  he  left  the  bunk,  and  he  had  to  use  his  mind. 
He  began,  then,  at  the  point  where  Jud  had  left  off. 

Jud  could  ride  Sally  with  a  scrap  of  cloth  beneath 
him;  Andrew  started  to  increase  the  size  of  that  cloth. 
He  did  it  very  gradually.  But  he  was  with  Sally  every 
waking  moment.  He  barely  snatched  time  for  his  meals. 
Pop  encouraged  him,  not  with  any  hope  that  he  would 
ever  be  able  to  ride  an  unridable  horse,  but  because  the 
chilly  air  of  the  outdoors  rapidly  began  to  whip  the  color 
back  into  Andrew's  face  and  brighten  his  eye. 

Half  a  dozen  times  a  day  Andrew  changed  the  pad  on 
Sally's  back.  To  keep  it  in  place  he  made  a  long  strip 
of  sacking  to  serve  as  a  cinch,  and  before  the  first  day 
was  gone  she  was  thoroughly  used  to  it.  With  this  great 
step  accomplished,  Andrew  increased  the  burden  each 
time  he  changed  the  pad.  He  got  a  big  tarpaulin  and 
folded  it  many  times;  the  third  day  she  was  accepting 
it  calmly  and  had  ceased  to  turn  her  head  and  nose  it. 


i86  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

Then  he  carried  up  a  small  sack  of  flour  and  put  that  in 
place  upon  the  tarpaulin.  She  winced  under  the  dead- 
weight burden ;  there  followed  a  full  half  hour  of  frantic 
bucking  which  would  have  pitched  the  best  rider  in  the 
world  out  of  a  saddle,  but  the  sack  of  flour  was  tied  on, 
and  Sally  could  not  dislodge  it.  When  she  was  tired 
of  bucking  she  stood  still,  and  then  discovered  that  the 
sack  of  flour  was  not  only  harmless  but  that  it  was  good 
to  eat.  Andrew  was  barely  in  time  to  save  the  contents 
of  the  sack  from  her  teeth. 

It  was  another  long  step  forward  in  the  education  qf 
Sally.  Next  he  fashioned  clumsy  imitations  of  stirrups, 
and  there  was  a  long  fight  between  Sally  and  stirrups, 
but  the  stirrups,  being  inanimate,  won,  and  Sally  sub- 
mitted to  the  bouncing  wooden  things  at  her  sides.  And 
still,  day  after  day,  Andrew  built  his  imitation  saddle 
closer  and  closer  to  the  real  thing,  until  he  had  taken  a 
real  pair  of  cinches  off  one  of  Pop's  saddles  and  had 
taught  her  to  stand  the  pressure  without  flinching. 

There  was  another  great  return  from  Andrew's  long 
and  steady  intimacy  with  the  mare.  She  came  to  accept 
him  absolutely.  She  knew  his  voice;  she  would  come 
to  his  whistle;  and  finally,  when  every  vestige  of  un- 
soundness  had  left  his  wounds,  he  climbed  into  that  im- 
provised saddle  and  put  his  feet  in  the  stirrups.  Sally 
winced  down  in  her  catlike  way  and  shuddered,  but  she 
straightened  again,  and  by  the  quiver  of  her  muscles  the 
rider  knew  that  she  was  hesitating  between  bolting  and 
standing  still.  He  began  to  talk  to  her,  and  the  familiar 
voice  decided  Sally.  She  merely  turned  her  head  and 
rubbed  his  knee  with  her  nose.  The  battle  was  over  and 
won.  Ten  minutes  later  Andrew  had  cinched  a  real 
saddle  in  place,  and  she  bore  the  weight  of  the  leather 
without  a  stir.  The  memory  of  that  first  saddle  and  the 


THE  WOOING  OF  SALLY  187 

biting  of  the  bur  beneath  it  had  been  gradually  wiped 
from  her  mind,  and  the  new  saddle  was  connected  indis- 
solubly  with  the  voice  and  the  hand  of  the  man.  At  the 
end  of  that  day's  work  Andrew  carried  the  saddle  back 
into  the  house  with  a  happy  heart. 

And  the  next  day  he  took  his  first  real  ride  on  the  back 
of  the  mare. 

Only  a  lover  of  horseflesh  can  dream  what  the  gait  of  a 
new  mount  may  mean,  the  length  of  stride,  the  supple- 
ness which  comes  of  flexible  fetlock  joints  and  hind  legs, 
angling  well  out;  and  there  is  the  swing  of  the  gallop, 
during  which  one  must  watch  the  shoulders  and  forelegs, 
and  be  watchful  of  the  least  sign  of  pounding  with  the 
front  hoofs,  since  that  tells  soonest  that  a  horse  cannot 
stand  a  long  ride,  and,  above  all,  there  is  the  run,  with 
the  long  drives  coming  from  the  hind  quarters,  a  succes- 
sion of  smooth,  swift  impulses.  A  man  who  rides  for 
pleasure  will  note  such  things  as  these,  but  to  Andrew 
his  horse  meant  life  and  death  as  well  as  companion- 
ship. And  he  leaned  to  hear  her  breathing  after  he  had 
run  her;  he  noted  how  easily  she  answered  the  play  of 
his  wrist,  how  little  her  head  moved  in  and  out,  so  that 
he  seldom  had  to  sift  the  reins  through  his  fingers  to 
keep  in  touch  with  the  bit.  It  was  a  plain  bar  bit,  but  she 
came  about  on  it  as  though  it  had  been  armed  with  a 
murderous  Spanish  curb.  He  could  start  her  from  a 
stand  into  a  full  gallop  with  a  touch  of  his  knees,  and 
he  could  bring  her  to  a  sliding  halt  with  the  least  pres- 
sure on  the  reins.  He  could  tell,  indeed,  that  she  was 
one  of  those  rare  possessions,  a  horse  with  a  wise  mouth. 

And  yet  he  had  small  occasion  to  keep  up  on  the  bit 
as  he  rode  her.  She  was  no  colt  which  hardly  knew  its 
own  paces.  She  was  a  stanch  five-year-old,  and  she  had 
roamed  the  mountains  about  Pop's  place  at  will.  She 


i88  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

went  like  a  wild  thing  over  the  broken  going.  The  loose 
stones  and  the  gravel,  which  had  turned  the  chestnut 
gelding  into  a  clumsy  blunderer,  were  nothing  to  her. 
She  seemed  to  have  a  separate  brain  in  each  foot,  telling 
her  how  to  handle  her  ground.  And  always  there  was 
that  catlike  agility  with  which  she  wound  among  the 
rocks,  hardly  impairing  her  speed  as  she  swerved.  An- 
drew found  her  a  book  whose  pages  he  could  turn  for- 
ever and  always  find  something  new. 

He  forgot  where  he  was  going.  He  only  knew  that 
the  wind  was  clipping  his  face  and  that  Sally  was  eating 
up  the  ground,  and  he  came  to  himself  with  a  start,  after 
a  moment,  realizing  that  his  dream  had  carried  him  peril- 
ously out  of  the  mouth  of  the  ravine.  He  had  even 
allowed  the  mare  to  reach  a  bit  of  winding  road,  rough 
indeed,  but  cut  by  many  wheels  and  making  a  white 
streak  across  the  country.  Andrew  drew  in  his  breath 
anxiously  and  turned  her  back  for  the  canon. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  BLOND  BEARD 

IT  was,  indeed,  a  grave  moment,  yet  the  chances  were 
large  that  even  if  he  met  some  one  on  the  road  he 
would  not  be  recognized,  for  it  had  been  many  days  since 
the  death  of  Andrew  Lanning  was  announced  through 
the  countryside.  He  gritted  his  teeth  when  he  thought 
that  this  single  burst  of  childish  carelessness  might  have 
imperiled  all  that  he  and  Jud  and  Pop  had  worked  for 
so  long  and  so  earnestly — the  time  when  he  could  take 
the  bay  mare  and  start  the  ride  across  the  mountains  to 
the  comparative  safety  on  the  other  side. 

That  time,  he  made  up  his  mind,  would  be  the  next 
evening.  He  was  well ;  Sally  was  thoroughly  mastered ; 
and,  with  a  horse  beneath  him  which,  he  felt,  could 
give  even  the  gray  stallion  of  Hal  Dozier  hard  work, 
and  therefore  show  her  heels  to  any  other  animal  on  the 
mountain  desert,  he  looked  forward  to  the  crossing  of 
the  mountains  as  an  accomplished  fact.  Always  sup- 
posing that  he  could  pass  Twin  Falls  and  the  fringe  of 
towns  in  the  hills,  without  being  recognized  and  the  alarm 
sent  out. 

Going  back  up  the  road  toward  the  ravine  at  a  brisk 
canter,  he  pursued  the  illuminating  comparison  between 
Sally  and  Dozier's  famous  Gray  Peter.  Of  course,  noth- 
ing but  a  downright  test  of  speed  and  weight-carrying 
power,  horse  to  horse,  could  decide  which  was  the  supe- 
rior, but  Andrew  had  ridden  Gray  Peter  many  times 
when  he  and  Uncle  Jasper  went  out  to  the  Dozier 


190  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

place,  and  he  felt  that  he  could  sum  up  the  differences 
between  the  two  beautiful  animals.  Sally  was  the  smaller 
of  the  two,  for  instance.  She  could  not  stand  more 
than  fifteen  hands,  or  fifteen-one  at  the  most.  Gray 
Peter  was  a  full  sixteen  hands  of  strong  bone  and  fine 
muscle,  a  big  animal — almost  too  big  for  some  purposes. 
Among  these  rocks,  now,  he  would  stand  no  chance  with 
Sally.  Gray  Peter  was  a  picture  horse.  When  one 
looked  at  him  one  felt  that  he  was  a  standard  by  which 
other  animals  should  be  measured.  He  carried  his  head 
loftily,  and  there  was  a  lordly  flaunt  to  his  tail.  On 
the  other  hand,  Sally  was  rather  long  and  low.  Her 
back,  indeed,  was  comparatively  short,  as  the  back  of 
a  good  saddle  horse  must  be,  but  she  had  a  long  line 
underneath,  so  long  that  one  felt  at  first  glance  that  she 
would  be  apt  to  break  down  under  a  hard  ride  and  a  big 
burden.  There  was  something  subtly  deceptive  about 
her — she  got  that  impression  of  length  not  so  much  out 
of  her  coupling  as  from  the  great  slope  and  length  of 
her  shoulders  and  the  length  of  the  straight  croup.  Fur- 
thermore, her  neck,  which  was  by  no  means  the  heavy 
neck  of  the  gray  stallion,  she  was  apt  to  carry  stretched 
rather  straight  out  and  not  curled  proudly  up  as  Gray 
Peter  carried  his.  Neither  did  she  bear  her  tail  so 
proudly.  Some  of  this,  of  course,  was  due  to  the  dif- 
ference between  a  mare  and  a  stallion,  but  still  more 
came  from  the  differing  natures  of  the  two  animals.  In 
the  head  lay  the  greatest  variation.  The  head  of  Gray 
Peter  was  close  to  perfection,  light,  compact,  heavy  of 
jowl,  a  great  distance  from  the  eye  to  the  angle  of  the 
jaw,  and  well  set  upon  his  neck ;  his  eye  at  all  times  was 
filled  with  an  intolerable  brightness,  a  keen  flame  of 
courage  and  eagerness.  But  one  could  find  a  fault  with 
Sally's  head.  In  general,  it  was  very  well  shaped,  with 


THE  BLOND  BEARD  191 

the  wide  forehead  and  all  the  other  good  points  which 
invariably  go  with  that  feature;  but  her  face  was  just 
a  trifle  dished ;  her  ears,  though  of  an  almost  transparently 
delicate  tissue,  were  a  bit  too  long,  but  very  thin  and 
tapering.  Moreover,  her  eye  was  apt  to  be  a  bit  dull. 
She  had  been  a  pet  all  her  life,  and,  like  most  pets,  her 
eye  partook  of  the  human  quality.  It  had  a  conversa- 
tional way  of  brightening  and  growing  dull.  On  the 
whole,  the  head  of  Sally  had  a  whimsical,  inquisitive 
expression,  and  by  her  whole  carnage  she  seemed  to  be 
perpetually  putting  her  nose  into  other  business  than 
her  own.  A  horseman  would  have  wished  to  send  her 
to  school,  where  she  would  have  been  taught  to  cock  up 
her  tail  and  bend  her  neck. 

But  the  gait  was  the  main  difference.  Riding  Gray 
Peter,  one  felt  an  enormous  force  urging  at  the  bit  and 
ready  and  willing  to  expend  itself  to  the  very  last  ounce, 
with  tremendous  courage  and  good  heart;  there  was 
always  a  touch  of  fear  that  Gray  Peter,  plunging  unabated 
over  rough  and  smooth,  might  be  running  himself  out. 
But  Sally  would  not  maintain  one  pace.  She  was  apt 
to  shorten  her  stride  for  choppy  going,  and  she  would 
lengthen  it  like  a  witch  on  the  level.  She  kept  changing 
the  elevation  of  her  head.  She  ran  freely,  looking  about 
her  and  taking  note  of  what  she  saw,  so  that  she  gave 
an  indescribable  effect  of  enjoying  the  gallop  just  as 
much  as  her  rider,  but  in  a  different  way.  When  Andrew 
spoke  to  her  she  would  flick  an  ear  back  as  though  she 
listened  to  him  with  half  her  mind,  and,  if  she  approved 
of  his  order,  both  ears  were  pricking  at  once,  but,  if 
she  did  not  like  the  direction,  her  ears  went  back  and  she 
ran  sullenly.  All  in  all,  Gray  Peter  was  a  glorious  ma- 
chine; Sally  was  a  tricky  intelligence.  Gray  Peter's 


192  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

heart  was  never  in  doubt,  but  what  would  Sally's  courage 
be  in  a  pinch  ? 

Full  of  these  comparisons,  studying  Sally  as  one  would 
study  a  friend,  Andrew  forgot  again  all  around  him, 
and  so  he  came  suddenly,  around  a  bend  in  the  road, 
upon  a  buckboard  with  two  men  in  it.  He  went  by  the 
buckboard  with  a  wave  of  greeting  and  a  side  glance, 
and  it  was  not  until  he  was  quite  around  the  elbow  turn 
that  he  remembered  that  one  of  the  men  in  the  wagon 
had  looked  at  him  with  a  strange  intentness.  It  was  a 
big  man  with  a  great  blond  beard,  parted  as  though  with 
a  comb  by  the  wind.  Andrew  stopped  Sally  with  a 
word  and  thought.  Then  it  rushed  back  on  him.  That 
was  Mike,  who  had  drunk  with  him  at  the  bar.  Had  he 
also  been  recognized  ? 

He  rode  back  around  the  bend,  and  there,  down  the 
road,  he  saw  the  buckboard  bouncing,  with  the  two 
horses  pulling  it  at  a  dead  gallop  and  the  driver  leaning 
back  in  the  seat. 

But  the  other  man,  the  big  man  with  the  beard,  had 
picked  a  rifle  out  of  the  bed  of  the  wagon,  and  now  he 
sat  turned  in  the  seat,  with  his  blond  beard  blown  side- 
wise  as  he  looked  back.  Beyond  a  doubt  Andrew  had 
been  recognized,  and  now  the  two  were  speeding  to  Tomo 
to  give  their  report  and  raise  the  alarm  a  second  time. 
Andrew,  with  a  groan,  shot  his  hand  to  the  long  holster 
of  the  rifle  which  Pop  had  insisted  that  he  take  with  him 
if  he  rode  out.  There  was  still  plenty  of  time  for  a  long 
shot.  He  saw  the  rifle  jerk  up  to  the  shoulder  of  Mike; 
something  hummed  by  him,  and  then  the  report  came 
barking  up  the  ravine. 

But  Andrew  turned  Sally  and  went  around  the  bend; 
that  old  desire  to  rush  on  the  men  and  shoot  them  down, 
that  same  cold  tingling  of  the  nerves,  which  he  had  felt 


THE  BLOND  BEARD  193 

when  he  faced  the  posse  after  the  fall  of  Bill  Dozier,  was 
on  him  again,  and  he  had  to  fight  it  down.  He  mas- 
tered it,  and  galloped  with  a  heavy  heart  up  the  ravine 
and  to  the  house  of  Pop.  The  old  man  saw  him;  he 
called  to  Jud,  and  the  two  stood  in  front  of  the  door  to 
admire  the  horseman  and  his  horse.  But  Andrew  flung 
himself  out  of  the  saddle  and  came  to  them  sadly.  He 
told  them  what  had  happened,  the  meeting,  the  recog- 
nition. There  was  only  one  thing  to  do — make  up  the 
pack  as  soon  as  possible  and  leave  the  place.  For  they 
would  know  where  he  had  been  hiding.  Sally  was  fa- 
mous all  through  the  mountains ;  she  was  known  as  Pop's 
outlaw  horse,  and  the  searchers  would  come  straight  to 
his  house. 

Pop  took  the  news  philosophically,  but  Jud  became  a 
pitiful  figure  of  stone  in  his  grief.  He  came  to  life 
again  to  help  in  the  packing.  They  worked  swiftly,  and 
Andrew  began  to  ask  the  final  questions  about  the  best 
and  least-known  trails  over  the  mountains.  Pop  dis- 
couraged the  attempt. 

"You  seen  what  happened  before,"  he  said.  "They'll 
have  learned  their  lesson  from  Hal  Dozier.  They'll  take 
the  telephone  and  rouse  the  towns  all  along  the  moun- 
tains. In  two  hours,  Andy,  two  hundred  men  will  be 
blocking  every  trail  and  closin'  in  on  you." 

And  Andrew  reluctantly  admitted  the  truth  of  what 
he  said.  Even  if  he  had  started  before  any  warning  had 
been  given,  it  would  have  been  perilous  work  to  get 
across  the  belt  of  towns  and  mountain  grazing  lands 
unrecognized;  but,  now  that  the  warning  would  go  out 
from  Tomo  in  a  few  hours,  it  would  be  a  manifest  folly. 
He  resigned  himself  gloomily  to  turning  back  onto  the 
mountain  desert,  and  now  he  remembered  the  warning 
of  failure  which  Henry  Allister  had  given  him.  He 


194  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

felt,  indeed,  that  the  great  outlaw  had  simply  allowed 
him  to  run  on  a  long  rope,  knowing  that  he  must  travel 
in  a  circle  and  eventually  come  back  to  the  band. 

Now  the  pack  was  made — he  saw  Jud  covertly  tuck 
some  little  mementoes  into  it — and  he  drew  Pop  aside 
and  dropped  a  weight  of  gold  coins  into  his  pocket. 

"You  tarnation  scoundrel !"  began  Pop  huskily. 

"Hush,"  said  Andrew,  "or  Jud  will  hear  you  and  know 
that  I've  tried  to  leave  some  money.  You  don't  want  to 
ruin  me  with  Jud,  do  you  ?" 

Pop  was  uneasy  and  uncertain. 

"I've  had  your  food  these  weeks  and  your  care,  Pop/' 
said  Andrew,  "and  now  I  walk  off  with  a  saddle  and  a 
horse  and  an  outfit  all  yours.  It's  too  much.  I  can't 
take  charity.  But  suppose  I  accept  it  as  a  gift;  I  leave 
you  an  exchange — a  present  for  Jud  that  you  can  give 
him  later  on.  Is  that  fair?" 

"Andy,"  said  the  old  man,  "you've  double  crossed  me, 
and  you've  got  me  where  I  can't  talk  out  before  Jud. 
But  I'll  get  even  yet.  Good-by,  lad,  and  put  this  one 
thing  under  your  hat:  It's  the  loneliness  that's  goin' 
to  be  the  hardest  thing  to  fight,  Andy.  You'll  get  so 
tired  of  bein'  by  yourself  that  you'll  risk  murder  for  the 
sake  of  a  talk.  But  then  hold  hard.  Stay  by  yourself. 
Don't  trust  to  nobody.  And  keep  clear  of  towns.  Will 
you  do  that?" 

"That's  plain  common  sense,  Pop." 

"Aye,  lad,  and  the  plain  things  are  always  the  hardest 
things  to  do." 

Next  came  Jud.  He  was  very  white,  but  he  ap- 
proached Andrew  with  a  careless  swagger  and  stiook 
hands  firmly. 

"When  you  bump  into  that  Dozier,  Andy,"  he  said, 
"get  him,  will  you  ?  S'long !" 


THE  BLOND  BEARD  195 

He  turned  sharply  and  sauntered  toward  the  open 
door  of  the  house.  But  before  he  was  halfway  to  it 
they  heard  a  choking  sound;  Jud  broke  into  a  run,  and, 
once  past  the  door,  slammed  it  behind  him. 

"Don't  mind  him,"  said  Pop,  clearing  his  throat  vio- 
lently. "He'll  cry  the  sick  feelin'  out  of  his  insides.  God 
bless  you,  Andy!  And  remember  what  I  say:  The 
loneliness  is  the  hard  thing  to  fight,  but  keep  clear  of 
men,  and  after  a  time  they'll  forget  about  you.  You 
can  settle  down  and  nobody'll  rake  up  old  scores.  I 
know." 

"D'you  think  it  can  be  done?" 

There  was  a  faint,  cold  twinkle  in  the  eyes  of  Pop. 
'Til  tell  a  man  it  can  be  done,"  he  said  slowly.  "When 
you  come  back  here  I  may  be  able  to  tell  you  a  little 
story,  Andy.  Now  climb  on  Sally  and  don't  hit  nothin' 
but  the  high  spots." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

TRUTH    AND   FICTION 

EVEN  in  his  own  lifetime  a  man  in  the  mountain  des- 
ert passes  swiftly  from  the  fact  of  history  into  the 
dream  of  legend.  The  telephone  and  the  newspaper  can- 
not bring  that  lonely  region  into  the  domain  of  cold 
truth.  In  the  time  that  followed  people  seized  on  the 
story  of  Andrew  Lanning  and  embroidered  it  with  rare 
trimmings.  It  was  told  over  and  over  again  in  saloons 
and  around  family  firesides  and  at  the  general-merchan- 
dise stores  and  in  the  bunk  houses  of  many  ranches. 
Each  retelling  emphasized  something  new  and  added  to 
the  vividness  of  the  yarn.  They  not  only  squeezed  every 
available  drop  of  interest  out  of  the  facts,  but  they  added 
quite  imaginary  details.  For  Andrew  had  done  what 
many  men  failed  to  do  in  spite  of  a  score  of  killings — 
he  struck  the  public  fancy.  People  realized,  however 
vaguely,  that  here  was  a  unique  story  of  the  making  of 
a  desperado,  and  they  gathered  the  story  of  Andrew 
Lanning  to  their  hearts. 

On  the  whole,  it  was  not  an  unkindly  interest.  In 
reality  the  sympathy  was  with  the  outlaw.  For  every 
one  knew  that  Hal  Dozier  was  on  the  trail  again,  and 
every  one  felt  that  in  the  end  he  would  run  down  his 
man,  and  there  was  a  general  hope  that  the  chase  might 
be  a  long  one.  For  one  thing,  the  end  of  that  chase 
would  have  removed  one  of  the  few  vital  current  bits 
of  news.  Men  could  no  longer  open  conversations  by 
asking  the  last  tidings  of  Andrew.  Such  questions  were 


TRUTH  AND  FICTION  197 

always  a  signal  for  an  unlocking  of  tongues  around  the 
circle. 

Many  untruths  were  told.  For  instance,  the  blowing 
of  the  safe  in  Allertown  was  falsely  attributed  to  An- 
drew, while  in  reality  he  knew  nothing  about  "soup"  and 
its  uses.  And  the  running  of  the  cows  off  the  Circle  O 
Bar  range  toward  the  border  was  another  exploit  which 
was  wrongly  checked  to  his  credit  or  discredit.  Also 
the  brutal  butchery  in  the  night  at  Buffalo  Head  was 
sometimes  said  to  be  Andrew's  work,  but  in  general  the 
men  of  the  mountain  desert  came  to  know  that  the  out- 
law was  not  a  red-handed  murderer,  but  simply  a  man 
who  fought  for  his  own  life. 

The  truths  in  themselves  were  enough  to  bear  telling 
and  retelling.  The  tale  of  how  he  wrote  the  message 
on  the  bar  in  Tomo  was  a  dainty  bit  for  spinners  of  yarns, 
and  the  breaking  through  the  circle  around  Hank  Rainer's 
cabin  was  another  fine  section,  to  say  nothing  of  that 
historic  occasion  when  he  routed  the  posse  and  killed 
Bill  Dozier.  Yet  these  things  were  nothing  to  what  had 
followed.  Andrew's  Thanksgiving  dinner  at  William 
Foster's  house,  with  a  revolver  on  the  table  and  a  smile 
on  his  lips,  was  a  pleasant  tale  and  a  thrilling  one  as 
well,  for  Foster  had  been  able  to  go  to  the  telephone  and 
warn  the  nearest  officer  of  the  law.  There  was  the  inci- 
dent of  the  jammed  rifle  at  The  Crossing;  the  tale  of 
how  a  youngster  at  Tomo  decided  that  he  would  rival 
the  career  of  the  great  man — how  he  got  a  fine  bay  mare 
and  started  a  blossoming  career  of  crime  by  "sticking 
up"  three  men  on  the  road  and  committing  several  depre- 
dations which  were  all  attributed  to  Andrew,  until  An- 
drew himself  ran  down  the  foolish  fellow,  shot  the  gun 
out  of  his  hand,  gave  him  a  talking  that  recalled  his  lost 
senses,  and  then  turned  him  gently  over  to  his  family. 


ig8  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

Out  of  his  own  pocket  he  made  a  contribution  so  that 
young  Lasker  could  return  to  the  victims  the  money  he 
had  stolen.  The  Lasker  family  had  tried  to  hush  up  the 
tale,  but  it  had  leaked  out  and  gone  the  rounds,  and  it 
made  a  famous  yarn. 

All  these  and  other  things  would  make  volumes  and 
volumes  if  they  were  narrated  in  full.  Particularly, 
there  was  the  story  of  "Sandy"  Macintosh.  He  came 
from  the  far  south  with  a  repute  as  a  man  hunter  that 
chilled  the  blood  even  of  the  lawful.  His  list  of  victims 
was  as  long  as  a  man's  arm,  and  Sandy  determined  to 
finish  the  job  which  was  apparently  too  big  for  even 
the  capable  hands  and  the  fast  horse  of  Hal  Dozier.  Hal 
took  a  vacation  and  left  an  empty  stage  for  the  celebrated 
Sandy.  And  Sandy  Macintosh  established  relays  of 
horses  and  ran  the  bay  mare  in  a  circle,  but  after  thirty- 
six  hours  of  furious  riding  the  outlaw  broke  out  of  the 
circle  and  cantered  away,  and  Sandy  rode  back,  leaving 
three  dead  horses  behind  him.  Then,  frantic  with 
shame,  he  issued  a  challenge  to  Andrew  Lanning,  and 
Andrew  Lanning  came  out  of  the  hills  and  met  Sandy 
and  beat  him  to  the  draw  and  shot  him  twice  through 
the  right  shoulder.  This  story  of  Sandy  Macintosh 
became  an  epic;  men  were  never  tired  of  retelling  it. 
Go  out  into  the  mountain  desert  to-day,  and  in  any  of  a 
hundred  villages  broach  the  name  of  Lanning,  and  nine 
chances  out  of  ten  some  man  will  say:  "I  suppose  you 
know  how  Sandy  Macintosh  came  up  to  get  Andy?"  In 
such  a  case  it  is  always  wise  to  pretend  ignorance  and 
listen,  for  the  tale  is  sure  to  be  interesting — and  new.  . 

But  all  other  details  fell  into  insignificance  compared 
with  the  general  theme,  which  was  the  mighty  duel  be- 
tween Andrew  and  Hal  Dozier — the  unescapable  man 
hunter  and  the  trap-wise  outlaw.  Hal  did  not  lose  any 


TRUTH  AND  FICTION  199 

reputation  because  he  failed  to  take  Andrew  Lanning 
at  once.  The  very  fact  that  he  was  able  to  keep  close 
enough  to  make  out  the  trail  at  all  increased  his  fame. 
He  had  been  a  household  word  in  the  mountain  desert 
before;  he  became  a  daily  topic  of  conversation  now. 
He  did  not  even  lose  his  high  standing  because  he  would 
not  hunt  Andrew  alone.  He  always  kept  a  group  with 
him,  and  people  said  that  he  was  wise  to  do  it.  Not 
because  he  was  not  a  match  for  Andrew  Lanning  single- 
handed,  but  because  it  was  folly  to  risk  life  when  there 
were  odds  which  might  be  used  against  the  desperado. 
But  every  one  felt  that  eventually  Lanning  would  draw 
the  deputy  marshal  away  from  his  posse,  and  then  the 
outlaw  would  turn,  and  there  would  follow  a  battle  of 
the  giants.  The  whole  mountain  desert  waited  for  that 
time  to  come  and  bated  its  breath  in  hope  and  fear  of  it. 
But  if  the  men  of  the  mountain  desert  considered  Hal 
Dozier  the  greatest  enemy  of  Andrew,  he  himself  had 
quite  another  point  of  view.  It  was  the  loneliness,  as 
Pop  had  promised  him.  It  was  the  consuming  loneli- 
ness that  ate  into  his  heart.  There  were  days  when  he 
hardly  touched  food  such  was  his  distaste  for  the  ugly 
messes  which  he  had  to  cook  with  his  own  hands;  there 
were  days  when  he  would  have  risked  his  life  to  eat  a 
meal  served  by  the  hands  of  another  and  cooked  by  an- 
other man.  That  was  the  secret  of  that  Thanksgiving 
dinner  at  the  Foster  house,  though  others  put  it  down 
to  sheer,  reckless  mischief.  And  to-day,  as  he  made  his 
fire  between  two  stones — a  smoldering,  evil-smelling  fire 
of  sagebrush — the  smoke  kept  running  up  his  clothes 
and  choking  his  lungs  with  its  pungency.  And  the  fat 
bacon  which  he  cut  turned  his  stomach.  At  last  he  sat 
down,  forgetting  the  bacon  in  the  pan,  forgetting  the 


200  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

long  fast  and  the  hard  ride  which  had  preceded  this  meal, 
and  stared  at  the  fire. 

Rather,  the  fire  was  the  thing  which  he  kept  chiefly  in 
the  center  of  his  vision,  but  his  glances  went  everywhere, 
to  all  sides,  up,  and  down.  Hal  Dozier  had  hunted  him 
hotly  down  the  valley  of  the  Little  Silver  River,  but  near 
the  village  of  Los  Toros  the  fagged  posse  and  Hal  him- 
self had  dropped  back  and  once  more  given  up  the  chase. 
No  doubt  they  would  rest  for  a  few  hours  in  the  town, 
change  horses,  and  then  come  after  him  again. 

It  was  a  new  Andrew  Lanning  that  sat  there  by  the 
fire.  He  had  left  Martindale  a  clear-faced  boy;  the 
months  that  followed  had  changed  him  to  a  man;  the 
boyhood  had  been  literally  burned  out  of  him.  The  skin 
of  his  face,  indeed, 'refused  to  tan,  but  now,  instead  of  a 
healthy  and  crisp  white  it  was  a  colorless  sallow.  The 
rounded  cheeks  were  now  straight  and  sank  in  sharply 
beneath  his  cheek  bones,  with  a  sharply  incised  line  be- 
side the  mouth.  And  his  expression  at  all  times  was 
one  of  quivering  alertness — the  mouth  a  little  compressed 
and  straight,  the  nostrils  seeming  a  trifle  distended,  and 
the  eyes  as  restless  as  the  eyes'of  a  hungry  wolf.  The 
old  blank,  dull  look  was  gone  from  them;  the  uneasy 
glitter  which  had  come  into  them  when  he  fled  from 
Martindale  on  that  age-long  day  had  never  died  from 
them  since.  Sometimes,  when  his  glance  steadied  on 
one  object,  the  light  became  a  point,  but  usually  it  was 
a  continual  shifting.  Take  a  candle  and  pass  it  from 
side  to  side  before  the  eyes  of  a  man,  and  the  same 
gleam  will  come  into  them  which  was  never  out  of  the 
eyes  of  Andrew  Lanning.  Two  things  might  have  been 
said  about  that  expression  of  his  eyes:  that  it  was  the 
glimmer  of  danger  or  the  light  of  fear  that  turns  into 
danger. 


TRUTH  AND  FICTION  201 

Moreover,  all  of  Andrew's  actions  had  come  to  bear 
out  this  same  expression  of  his  face.  If  he  sat  down  his 
legs  were  gathered,  and  he  seemed  about  to  stand  up. 
If  he  walked  he  went  with  a  nervous  step,  rising  a  little 
on  his  toes  as  though  he  were  about  to  break  into  a  run 
or  as  though  he  were  poising  himself  to  whirl  at  any 
alarm.  He  sat  in  this  manner  even  now,  under  that 
dead  gray  sky  of  sheeted  clouds,  and  in  the  middle  of 
that  great  rolling  plain,  lifeless  and  colorless — lifeless 
except  for  the  wind  that  hummed  across  it,  pointed  with 
£old.  Andrew,  looking  from  the  dull  glimmer  of  his 
fire  to  that  dead  waste,  sighed.  He  whistled,  and  Sally 
came  instantly  to  the  call  and  dropped  her  head  beside 
his  own.  She,  at  least,  had  not  changed  in  the  long 
pursuits  and  the  hard  life.  It  had  made  her  gaunt.  It 
had  hardened  and  matured  her  muscles  so  that  now  along 
her  shoulders  there  were  ridges  and  ripples,  iron  hard, 
and  her  thighs  were  twining  masses  of  strength;  but 
her  head  was  the  same,  and  her  changeable,  human  eyes, 
the  eyes  of  a  pet,  had  not  altered. 

She  stood  there  with  her  head  down,  silently;  and 
Andrew,  his  hands  locked  around  his  knees,  neither  spoke 
to  her  nor  stirred.  But  by  degrees  the  pain  and  the 
hunger  went  out  of  his  face,  and,  as  though  she  knew 
that  she  was  no  longer  needed,  Sally  tipped  his  sombrero 
over  his  eyes  with  a  toss  of  her  head,  and,  having  given 
this  signal  of  disgust  at  being  called  without  a  purpose, 
she  went  back  to  her  work  of  cropping  the  gramma  grass, 
which  of  all  grasses  a  horse  loves  best.  Andrew  straight- 
ened his  hat  and  cast  one  glance  after  her.  Words, 
indeed,  were  almost  unnecessary  between  them  now.  By 
a  pressure  of  his  knees  he  could  guide  her;  by  a  gesture 
he  could  call  her. 

A  shade  of  thought  passed  over  his  face  as  he  looked 


202  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

at  her.  But  this  time  the  posse  was  probably  once  more 
starting  on  out  of  Los  Toros  and  taking  his  trail.  It 
would  mean  another  test;  he  did  not  fear  for  her,  but 
he  pitied  her  for  the  hard  work  that  was  coming,  and 
he  looked  almost  with  regret  over  the  long  racing  lines 
of  her  body.  And  it  was  then,  coming  out  of  the  sight 
of  Sally,  the  thought  of  the  posse,  and  the  disgust  for 
the  greasy  bacon  in  the  pan,  that  Andrew  received  a 
quite  new  idea.  It  was  to  stop  his  flight,  turn  about, 
and  double  like  a  fox  straight  back  toward  Los  Toros, 
making  a  detour  to  the  left.  The  posse  would  plunge 
ahead,  and  he  could  cut  in  toward  Los  Toros.  For  he 
had  determined  to  eat  once  again,  at  least,  at  a  table 
covered  with  a  white  cloth,  food  prepared  by  the  hand 
of  another.  Sally  was  known;  he  would  leave  her  in 
the  grove  beside  the  Little  Silver  River.  For  himself, 
weeks  had  passed  since  any  man  had  seen  him,  and  cer- 
tainly no  one  in  Los  Toros  had  met  him  face  to  face. 
He  would  be  unknown  except  for  a  general  description. 
And  to  disarm  suspicion  entirely  he  would  leave  his  car- 
tridge belt  and  his  revolver  with  Sally  in  the  woods. 
For  what  human  being,  no  matter  how  imaginative,  would 
possibly  dream  of  Andrew  Lanning  going  unarmed  into 
a  town  and  sitting  calmly  at  a  table  to  order  a  meal  ? 


CHAPTER  XXX 

GREEK    MEETS   GREEK 

FJEOPLE  in  telling  that  story  long  afterward,  and  it 
JL  became  one  of  the  favorite  tales  connected  with 
Andrew  Lanning,  attributed  the  whole  maneuver  to  an 
outbreak  of  madness.  Just  as  madness  appeared  the 
campaign  of  Napoleon  when  he  dropped  over  the  Alps 
into  Italy,  and,  while  Melas  was  taking  Genoa  from 
heroic  Massena,  appeared  quietly  on  that  unfortunate 
general's  communications  and  then  blotted  him  out  at 
Marengo.  And  that  campaign  would  have  been  judged 
madness  instead  of  genius  if  it  had  not  worked. 

Retrospection  made  Andrew  Lanning's  coming  to  Los 
Toros  a  mad  freak,  whereas  it  was  in  reality  a  very 
clever  stroke.  Hal  Dozier  would  have  been  on  the  road 
five  hours  before  if  he  had  not  been  held  up  in  the  mat- 
ter of  horses,  but  this  is  to  tell  the  story  out  of  turn. 

Andrew  saddled  the  mare  and  sent  her  back  swiftly 
out  of  the  plain,  over  the  hills,  and  then  dropped  her 
down  into  the  valley  of  the  Little  Silver  River  until  he 
reached  the  grove  of  trees  just  outside  Los  Toros — some 
four  hundred  yards,  say,  from  the  little  group  of  houses. 
He  then  took  off  his  belt,  hung  it  over  the  pommel, 
fastened  the  reins  to  the  belt,  and  turned  away.  Sally 
would  stay  where  he  left  her — unless  some  one  else  tried 
to  get  to  her  head,  and  then  she  would  fight  like  a  wild 
cat.  He  knew  that,  and  he  therefore  started  for  Los 
Toros  with  his  line  of  communications  sufficiently 
guarded. 


204  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

He  instinctively  thought  first  of  drawing  his  hat  low 
over  his  eyes  and  walking  swiftly;  a  moment  of  calm 
figuring  told  him  that  the  better  way  was  to  push  the 
hat  to  the  back  of  his  head,  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
and  go  whistling  through  the  streets  of  the  town.  And 
this  was  actually  the  manner  in  which  he  made  his  entry 
to  Los  Toros.  It  was  not  much  of  a  place — say  five 
hundred  people — but  its  single  street  looked  as  large  and 
as  long  as  a  great  avenue  to  Andrew  as  he  sauntered 
carelessly  toward  the  restaurant.  It  was  the  middle  of 
the  gray  afternoon;  there  were  few  people  about,  and 
the  two  or  three  whom  Andrew  passed  nodded  a  greet- 
ing. Each  time  they  raised  their  hands  the  fingers  of 
Andrew  twitched,  but  he  made  himself  smile  back  at  them 
and  waved  in  return. 

He  went  on  until  he  came  to  the  restaurant.  It  was  a 
long,  narrow  room  with  a  row  of  tables  down  each  side, 
and  a  little  counter  and  cash  register  beside  the  door, 
some  gaudy  posters  on  the  wall,  a  screen  at  the  rear  to 
hide  the  entrance  to  the  kitchen,  faded  green  sackcloth 
tacked  on  the  ceiling  to  cover  the  bare  boards,  and  a 
ragged  strip  of  linoleum  on  the  narrow  passage  between 
the  tables. 

These  things  Andrew  saw  with  the  first  flick  of  his 
eyes  as  he  came  through  the  door;  as  for  people,  there 
was  a  fat  old  man  sitting  behind  the  cash  register  in  a 
dirty  white  apron  and  two  men  in  greasy  overalls  and 
black  shirts,  perhaps  from  the  railroad.  There  was  one 
other  thing  which  immediately  blotted  out  all  the  rest; 
it  was  a  big  poster,  about  halfway  down  the  wall,  on 
which  appeared  in  staring  letters :  "Ten  thousand  dol- 
lars reward  for  the  apprehension,  dead  or  alive,  of  An- 
drew Lanning."  Above  this  caption  was  a  picture  of 
him,  and  below  the  big  print  appeared  the  body  of  smaller 


GREEK  MEETS  GREEK  205 

type  which  named  his  particular  features.  Straight  to 
this  sign  Andrew  walked  and  sat  down  at  the  table  be- 
neath it. 

It  was  no  hypnotic  attraction  that  took  him  there.  He 
knew  perfectly  well  that  if  a  man  noticed  that  sign  he 
would  never  dream  of  connecting  the  man  for  whom, 
dead  or  alive,  ten  thousand  dollars  was  to  be  paid,  with 
the  man  who  sat  underneath  the  picture  calmly  eating  his 
lunch  in  the  middle  of  a  town.  And  a  town  from  which 
a  posse  pursuing  the  man  had  just  ridden,  as  Andrew 
was  sure  they  had  gone.  Even  if  some  supercurious 
person  should  make  a  comparison,  he  would  not  proceed 
far  with  it,  Andrew  was  sure,  for  the  picture  represented 
the  round,  young  face  of  a  person  who  hardly  existed 
now;  the  hardened  features  of  Andrew  were  now  only 
a  skinny  caricature  of  what  they  had  been. 

At  any  rate,  Andrew  sat  down  beneath  the  picture, 
and,  instead  of  resting  one  elbow  on  the  table  and  par- 
tially veiling  his  face  with  his  hand,  as  he  might  most 
naturally  have  done,  he  tilted  back  easily  in  his  chair  and 
looked  up  at  the  poster.  The  fat  man  from  behind  the 
register  had  come  to  take  his  order.  He  noted  the  direc- 
tion of  Andrew's  eyes  while  he  jotted  down  the  items. 

"You  ain't  the  first,"  he  said,  "that's  looked  at  that. 
Think  of  the  gent  that'll  get  ten  thousand  dollars  out  of 
a  single  slug?" 

"I  can  name  the  man  who'll  get  it,"  said  Andrew,  "and 
his  name  is  Hal  Dozier." 

"I  guess  you  ain't  far  wrong/'  replied  the  other.  "For 
that  matter,  the  folks  around  here  would  mostly  make 
the  same  guess.  But  maybe  Hal's  luck  will  take  a  turn." 

"Well,"  said  Andrew,  "if  he  gets  the  money  I'll  say 
that  he's  earned  it.  And  rush  in  some  bread  first,  cap- 
tain. I'm  two-thirds  starved." 


206  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

It  was  a  historic  meal  in  more  than  one  way.  The 
size  of  it  was  one  notable  feature,  and  even  Andrew  had 
to  loosen  his  belt  when  he  came  to  attack  the  main  fea- 
ture, which  was  a  vast  steak  with  fried  eggs  scattered 
over  the  top  of  it.  The  proprietor,  admiring  such  gas- 
tronomic prowess,  hung  about  Andrew  and  made  sug- 
gestions of  side  dishes,  corn,  tomatoes,  and  canned  fish. 
The  suggestions  were  added ;  the  table  groaned ;  for  a  diet 
of  beans  and  bacon  leaves  vast  holes  which  take  much 
filling. 

The  steak  had  been  reduced  to  a  meager  rim  before 
[Andrew  had  any  attention  to  pay  to  the  paper  which  had 
been  placed  on  his  table.  It  was  an  eight-page  sheet 
entitled  The  Granville  Bugle,  and  a  subhead  announced 
that  it  was  "the  greatest  paper  on  the  ranges  and  the 
cattleman's  guide."  It  was  devoted  strictly  to  news  of 
the  mountain  desert.  Andrew  found  a  picture  on  the 
first  page,  a  picture  of  Hal  Dozier,  and  over  the  picture 
the  following  caption:  "Watch  this  column  for  news 
of  the  Andrew  Lanning  hunt." 

The  article  in  this  week's  issue  contained  few  facts. 
It  announced  a  number  of  generalities:  "Marshal  Hal 

Dozier,  when  interviewed,  said "  and  a  great  many 

innocuous  things  which  he  was  sure  that  grim  hunter 
could  not  have  spoken.  He  passed  over  the  rest  of  the 
column  in  careless  contempt.  On  the  second  page,  in 
a  muddle  of  short  notices,  one  headline  caught  his  eye 
and  held  it:  "Charles  Merchant  to  Wed  Society  Belle." 

The  editor  had  spread  his  talents  for  the  public  eye 
in  doing  justice  to  it : 

On  the  fifteenth  of  the  month  will  be  consum- 
mated a  romance  which  began  last  year,  when 
Charles  Merchant,  son  of  the  well-known  cattle  king, 


GREEK  MEETS  GREEK  207 

i 

John  Merchant,  went  East  and  met  Miss  Anne 
Withero.  It  is  Miss  Withero's  second  visit  in  the 
West,  and  it  is  now  announced  that  the  marriage 

Andrew  crumpled  the  paper  and  let  it  fall.  He 
glanced  at  a  calender  on  the  wall  opposite  him.  There 
remained  six  days  before  the  wedding. 

And  he  was  still  so  stunned  by  that  announcement 
that,  raising  his  head  slowly,  his  thoughts  spinning,  he 
looked  up  and  encountered  the  eyes  of  Hal  Dozier  as 
the  latter  sank  into  a  chair. 

He  did  not  complete  the  act,  but  was  arrested  in  mid- 
air, one  hand  grasping  the  back  of  the  chair,  the  other 
hand  at  his  hip.  Andrew,  in  the  space  of  an  instant, 
thought  of  three  things — to  kick  the  table  from  him  and 
try  to  get  to  the  side  door  of  the  place,  to  catch  up  the 
heavy  sugar  bowl  and  attempt  to  bowl  over  his  man  with 
a  well-directed  blow,  or  to  simply  sit  and  look  Hal  Dozier 
in  the  eye. 

He  had  thought  of  the  three  things  in  the  space  that 
it  would  take  a  dog  to  snap  at  a  fly  and  look  away.  He 
dismissed  the  first  alternatives  as  absurd,  and,  picking 
up  his  cup  of  coffee,  he  raised  his  eyes  slowly  toward 
the  ceiling,  after  the  time-honored  fashion  of  a  man 
draining  a  glass,  let  his  glance  move  gradually  up  and 
catch  on  the  face  of  Dozier,  and  then,  without  haste, 
lowered  the  cup  again  to  its  saucer. 

The  flush  of  his  own  heavy  meal  kept  his  pallor  from 
showing.  As  for  Dozier,  there  was  a  succession  of 
changes  in  his  features,  and  then  he  concluded  by  lower- 
ing himself  heavily  the  rest  of  the  way  into  his  chair. 
He  gave  his  order  to  the  proprietor  in  a  dazed  fashion, 
looking  straight  at  Andrew,  and  the  latter  knew  perfectly 
that  the  deputy  marshal  felt  that  he  was  in  a  dream. 


208  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

He  was  seeing  what  was  not  possible  to  see;  his  eyes 
were  telling  his  brain  in  definite  terms :  "There  sits 
Andrew  Lanning  and  ten  thousand  dollars/'  But  the 
reason  of  Dozier  was  speaking  no  less  decidedly :  "There 
sits  a  man  without  a  weapon  at  his  hip  and  actually  be- 
neath the  poster  which  offers  a  reward  for  the  capture 
of  the  person  he  resembles.  Also,  he  is  in  a  restaurant 
in  the  middle  of  a  town.  I  have  only  to  raise  my  voice 
in  order  to  surround  him." 

And  reason  gained  the  upper  hand,  though  Dozier  con- 
tinued to  look  at  Andrew  in  a  fascinated  manner. 

Suddenly  the  outlaw  knew  that  it  would  not  do  to  dis- 
regard that  glance  so  long  continued.  To  disregard  it 
would  be  to  start  the  suspicions  of  Dozier  as  soon  as 
his  brain  cleared,  and  the  least  spark  would  at  once  send 
the  man  hunter  into  a  flame  of  conviction. 

"Hello,  stranger,"  said  Andrew,  and  he  merely  made 
his  voice  a  trifle  husky  and  deep.  "D'you  know  me?" 

The  eyes  of  Dozier  widened,  there  was  a  convulsive 
motion  of  his  arm,  and  then  his  glance  wandered  slowly 
away. 

"Excuse  me,"  he  said.  "I  thought  I  remembered  your 
face." 

Should  he  let  it  rest  at  that  ?  No,  better  risk  a  finish- 
ing touch.  "No  harm  done,"  he  said  in  the  same  loud 
voice.  "Hey,  captain,  another  cup  of  coffee,  will  you? 
And  a  cigar/' 

He  tilted  back  in  his  chair.  He  was  about  to  begin 
whistling,  but  feeling  that  this  would  be  a  trifle  too 
brazen,  he  merely  folded  his  hands  behind  his  head  and 
began  to  hum.  And  all  the  time  his  nerves  were  jump- 
ing, and  that  old  frenzy  was  taking  him  by  the  throat, 
that  bulldog  eagerness  for  the  fight.  But  fight  empty- 
handed — and  against  Hal  Dozier? 


GREEK  MEETS  GREEK  209 

The  restaurant  owner  brought  Dozier's  order,  and  then 
the  coffee  and  the  cigar  to  Andrew,  and  while  the  deputy 
continued  to  look  with  dumb  fascination  at  Andrew  with 
swift  side  glances,  Andrew  finished  his  second  cup.  He 
bit  off  the  end  of  his  cigar,  asked  for  his  check,  and  paid 
it,  and  then  felt  his  nerves  crumble  and  go  to  pieces. 

It  was  not  Hal  Dozier  who  sat  there,  but  death  itself 
that  looked  him  in  the  face.  One  false  move,  one  wrong 
gesture,  would  betray  him.  How  could  he  tell?  That 
very  moment  his  expression  might  have  altered  into 
something  which  the  marshal  could  not  fail  to  recognize, 
and  the  moment  that  final  touch  came  there  would  be  a 
gun  play  swifter  than  the  eye  could  follow — simply  a 
flash  of  steel  and  a  simultaneous  explosion. 

Even  now,  with  the  cigar  between  his  teeth,  he  knew 
that  if  he  lighted  a  match  the  match  would  tremble  be- 
tween his  fingers,  and  that  trembling  would  betray  him 
to  Dozier.  Was  he  wrong?  Was  there  not  even  now 
a  tightening  of  the  jaw  muscles  of  the  marshal,  a  clear- 
ing and  narrowing  of  his  eyes,  such  as  preceded  action? 

Yet  he  must  not  sit  there,  either,  with  the  cigar  be- 
tween his  teeth,  unlighted.  It  was  a  little  thing,  but 
the  weight  of  a  feather  would  turn  the  balance  and  loose 
on  him  the  thunderbolt  of  Hal  Dozier  in  action. 

But  what  could  he  do? 

He  found  a  thing  in  the  very  deeps  of  his  despair. 
He  got  up  from  his  chair,  pushed  his  hat  calmly  upon 
his  head — though  that  surely  must  complete  Dozier's  pic- 
ture— and  walked  straight  to  the  deputy.  He  dropped 
both  hands  upon  the  edge  of  Hal's  table  and  leaned 
across  it. 

"Got "a  light,  partner?"  he  asked. 

And  standing  there  over  the  table,  he  knew  that  Dozier 
had  at  length  finally  and  definitely  recognized  him;  but 


210  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

that  the  numbed  brain  of  the  marshal  refused  to  permit 
him  to  act.  He  believed  and  yet  he  dared  not  believe  his 
belief.  Andrew  saw  the  glance  of  Dozier  go  to  his  hip — 
his  hip  which  the  holster  had  rubbed  until  it  gleamed. 
But  no  matter — the  gun  was  not  there — and  stunned 
again  by  that  impossible  fact  Dozier  reached  back  and 
brought  up  his  hand  bearing  a  match  box.  He  took  out 
a  match.  He  lighted  it,  his  brows  drawing  together  and 
slackening  all  the  time,  and  then  he  looked  up,  his  eyes 
rising  with  the  lighted  match,  and  stared  full  into  the 
eyes  of  Andrew. 

It  was  discovery  undoubtedly — and  how  long  would 
that  mental  paralysis  last  ? 

Andrew  looked  straight  back  into  those  eyes.  His 
cigar  took  the  fire  and  sucked  in  the  flame.  A  cloud  of 
smoke  puffed  out  and  rolled  toward  Hal  Dozier,  and 
Andrew  turned  leisurely  and  walked  toward  the  door. 

He  was  a  yard  from  it. 

"Lanning!"  came  a  voice  behind  him,  terrible,  like  a 
scream  of  pain. 

As  he  leaped  forward  a  gun  spoke  heavily  in  the  room. 
He  heard  the  bullet  crunch  into  the  frame  of  the  door; 
the  door  itself  was  split  by  the  second  shot  as  Andrew 
slammed  it  shut.  Then  he  raced  around  the  corner  of 
the  restaurant  and  made  for  the  grove. 

There  was  not  a  sound  behind  him  for  a  moment. 
Then  a  roar  rose  from  the  village  and  rushed  after  him. 
It  gave  him  wings.  And,  looking  back,  he  saw  that  Hal 
Dozier  was  not  among  the  pursuers.  No,  half  a  dozen 
men  were  running,  and  firing  as  they  ran,  but  there  was 
not  a  rifle  in  the  lot,  and  it  takes  a  good  man  to  land  a 
bullet  on  the  run  where  he  is  firing  at  a  dodging  target. 
The  pursuers  lost  ground;  they  stopped  and  yelled  for 
horses. 


GREEK  MEETS  GREEK  211 

But  that  was  what  Hal  Dozier  was  doing  now.  He 
was  jerking  a  saddle  on  the  back  of  Gray  Peter,  and  in 
sixty  seconds  he  would  be  tearing  out  of  Los  Toros.  In 
the  same  space  Andrew  was  in  his  own  saddle  with  a 
flying  leap  and  spurring  out  of  the  trees. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

HORSE   AGAINST    HORSE 

BY  one  thing  he  knew  the  utter  desperation  of  Hal 
Dozier.  For  the  man  had  fired  while  Andrew's 
back  was  turned.  The  bullet  had  followed  the  warning 
cry  as  swiftly  as  the  strike  of  a  snake  follows  its  rattle. 
Luck  and  his  sudden  leap  forward  had  unbalanced  the 
nice  aim  of  Dozier,  and  perhaps  his  mental  agitation 
had  contributed  to  it.  But,  at  any  rate,  Andrew  was 
troubled  as  he  cleared  the  edge  of  the  trees  and  cantered 
Sally  not  too  swiftly  along  the  Little  Silver  River  to- 
ward Las  Casas  mountains,  a  little  east  of  south. 

He  did  not  hurry  her,  partly  because  he  wished  to  stay 
close  and  make  sure  of  the  number  and  force  of  his  pur- 
suers, and  partly  because  he  already  had  a  lead  sufficient 
to  keep  out  of  any  but  chance  rifle  shots. 

He  had  not  long  to  wait.  Men  boiled  out  of  the  vil- 
lage like  hornets  out  of  a  shaken  nest.  He  could  see 
them  buckling  on  belts  while  they  were  riding  with  the 
reins  in  their  teeth.  And  they  came  like  the  wind,  yell- 
ing at  the  sight  of  their  quarry.  Who  would  not  kill  a 
horse  for  the  sake  of  saying  that  he  had  been  within 
pistol  range  of  the  great  outlaw?  But,  fast  as  their 
horses  ran,  Dozier,  on  Gray  Peter,  was  able  to  keep  up 
with  them  and  also  to  range  easily  from  group  to  group. 
Truly,  Gray  Peter  was  a  glorious  animal !  For  the  hun- 
dredth time  Andrew  admitted  it.  If  he  were  allowed 
to  stretch  out  after  the  mare,  what  would  the  result  be? 

The  pursuers,  under  the  direction  of  Dozier,  spread 


HORSE  AGAINST  HORSE  213 

across  the  river  bottom  and  having  formed  so  that  no 
tricky  doubling  could  leave  them  in  the  lurch  on  a  blind 
trail,  they  began  to  use  a  new  set  of  tactics.  It  was  new 
to  Hal  Dozier,  but  it  was  the  old  trick  of  his  dead  brother. 

Dozier  kept  Gray  Peter  at  a  steady  pace,  never  vary- 
ing his  gait.  But,  on  either  side  of  him  groups  of  his 
followers  urged  their  horses  forward  at  breakneck  speed. 
Three  or  four  would  send  home  the  spurs  and  rush  up 
the  river  bottom  after  Andrew.  If  he  did  not  hurry  on 
they  opened  fire  with  their  rifles  from  a  short  distance 
and  sent  a  hail  of  random  bullets,  but  Andrew  knew  that 
a  random  bullet  carries  just  as  much  force  as  a  well-aimed 
one,  and  chance  might  be  on  the  side  of  one  of  those 
shots.  He  dared  not  allow  them  to  come  too  close.  Yet 
his  heart  rejoiced  as  he  watched  the  manner  in  which 
Sally  accepted  these  challenges.  She  never  once  had  to 
lurch  into  her  racing  gait;  she  took  the  rushes  of  the 
cow  ponies  behind  her  by  merely  lengthening  her  stride 
until  she  seemed  to  be  settling  closer  and  closer  to  the 
ground,  and  always  the  horses  behind  her  were  winded 
and  had  to  fall  back. 

Yet  they  included  some  fine  strains  of  blood  in  that 
bunch;  only  there  was  lacking  the  difference  between  a 
good  animal  and  a  fine  one,  in  addition  to  the  fact  that 
Sally  was  long  since  hardened  to  just  such  races  as  this 
one. 

If  Andrew  had  let  out  Sally  she  would  Have  walked 
away  from  them  all,  but  he  dared  not  do  that.  For, 
after  he  had  run  the  heart  out  of  the  commoner  ones, 
there  remained  Gray  Peter  in  reserve,  never  changing 
his  pace,  never  hurrying,  falling  often  far  back,  as  the 
groups  one  after  another  pushed  close  to  Sally  and  made 
her  spurt,  gaining  again  when  the  spurts  ended  one  by 
one. 


214  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

After  all,  there  was  nothing  very  new  in  these  tactics. 
It  was  the  fashion  that  a  team  of  runners  use  against 
one  dangerous  opponent,  challenging  him  one  after  the 
other  and  running  him  out  so  that  the  best  in  the  team 
can  come  through  with  a  spurt  at  the  end  and  pass  the 
flagging  enemy. 

There  were  two  hours  of  daylight;  there  was  one  hour 
of  dusk;  and  all  that  time  the  crowd  kept  thrusting  out 
its  small  groups,  one  after  the  other,  reaching  after  Sally 
like  different  arms,  and  each  time  she  answered  the  spurt, 
and  always  slipped  away  into  a  greater  lead  at  the  end 
of  it.  And  then,  while  the  twilight  was  turning  into 
dark,  Andrew  looked  back  and  saw  the  whole  crowd 
rein  in  their  horses  and  turn  back.  There  remained  a 
single  figure  following  him,  and  that  figure  was  easily 
seen,  because  it  was  a  man  on  a  gray  horse.  And  then 
Andrew  grasped  the  plan  fully.  The  posse  had  played 
its  part;  the  thing  for  which  the  mountain  desert  had 
waited  was  come  at  last,  and  Hal  Dozier  was  going  on 
to  find  his  man  single-handed  and  pull  him  down. 

Twice,  before  complete  darkness  set  in,  Andrew  drew 
Sally  back"  to  a  gentler  gait,  and  twice  he  sent  her  on 
again.  And  each  time  he  had  been  on  the  verge  of  turn- 
ing and  going  back  to  accept  the  challenge  of  Hal  Dozier. 
Always  two  things  stopped  him.  There  was  first  the 
fear  of  the  man  which  he  frankly  admitted,  and  more 
than  that  was  the  feeling  that  one  thing  lay  before  him 
to  be  done  before  he  could  meet  Dozier  and  end  the  long 
trail.  He  must  see  Anne  Withero.  She  was  about  to 
be  married  and  be  drawn  out  of  his  world  and  into  a 
new  one.  He  felt  it  was  more  important  than  life  or 
death  to  see  her  before  that  transformation  took  place. 
They  would  go  East,  no  doubt.  Two  thousand  miles 


HORSE  AGAINST  HORSE  215 

the  law  and  the  mountains  would  fence  him  away  from 
her  after  that. 

During  the  last  months  he  accepted  her  as  he  accepted 
the  stars — something  far  away  from  him,  and  yet  some- 
thing which  he  knew  was  there  and  which  he  could  look 
at  perhaps  out  of  his  night.  And  now,  by  some  pretext, 
by  some  wile,  he  must  live  to  see  her  once  more.  After 
that  let  Hal  Dozier  meet  him  when  he  would. 

But  with  this  in  mind,  as  soon  as  the  utter  dark  shut 
down,  he  swerved  Sally  to  the  right  and  worked  slowly 
up  through  the  mountains,  heading  due  southwest  and 
out  of  the  valley  of  the  Little  Silver.  He  kept  at  it, 
through  a  district  where  the  mare  could  not  even  trot  a 
great  deal  of  the  time,  for  two  or  more  hours.  Then 
he  found  a  little  plateau  thick  with  good  grazing  for 
Sally  and  with  a  spring  near  it.  There  he  camped  for 
the  night,  without  food,  without  fire. 

And  not  once  during  the  hours  before  morning  did  he 
close  his  eyes.  When  the  first  gray  touched  the  sky  he 
was  in  the  saddle  again;  before  the  sun  was  up  he  had 
crossed  the  Las  Casas  and  was  going  down  the  great 
shallow  basin  of  the  Roydon  River.  A  fine,  drizzling 
rain  was  falling,  and  Sally,  tired  from  her  hard  work  of 
the  day  before  and  the  long  duels  with  the  horses  of  the 
posse,  went  even  more  down-heartedly  moody  than  usual, 
shuffling  wearily,  but  recovering  herself  with  her  usual 
catlike  adroitness  whenever  her  footing  failed  on  the 
steep  downslope. 

For  all  her  dullness,  it  was  a  signal  from  Sally  that 
saved  Andrew.  She  jerked  up  her  head  and  turned; 
he  looked  in  the  same  direction  and  saw  a  form  like  a 
gray  ghost  coming  over  the  hills  to  his  left,  a  dim  shape 
through  the  rain.  Gloomily  Andrew  watched  Hal  Do- 
zier come.  Gray  Peter  had  been  fresher  than  Sally  at 


216  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

the  end  of  the  run  of  the  day  before.  He  was  fresher 
now.  Andrew  could  tell  that  easily  by  the  stretch  of 
his  gallop  and  the  evenness  of  his  pace  as  he  rushed 
across  the  slope.  He  gave  the  word  to  Sally.  She 
tossed  up  her  head  in  mute  rebellion  at  this  new  call  for 
a  race,  and  then  broke  into  a  canter  whose  first  few 
strides,  by  way  of  showing  her  anger,  were  as  choppy 
and  lifeless  as  the  stride  of  a  plow  horse. 

That  was  the  beginning  of  the  famous  ride  from  the 
Las  Casas  mountains  to  the  Roydon  range,  and  all  the 
distance  across  the  Roydon  valley.  As  a  bird  flies,  it 
was  a  full  seventy  miles ;  as  the  horses  galloped,  winding 
to  and  fro  to  find  the  easier  footing,  it  must  have  been 
a  full  eighty  miles.  That  distance  the  gray  horse  and 
the  bay  ran  in  exactly  nine  hours  and  fifty-five  minutes. 
To  this  time  Hal  Dozier  swore  in  after  days,  and,  though 
many  a  man  has  shaken  his  head  over  the  tale,  this  is  the 
story  as  it  now  runs  current  in  the  mountain  desert,  and 
this  is  the  tale  which  two  big  stone  pillars  confirm.  For 
Hal  Dozier  put  them  up  to  commemorate  the  run  of 
great  Gray  Peter  on  this  day — a  pillar  to  mark  the  start 
and  a  pillar  to  mark  the  finish.  The  time  is  inscribed  on 
the  finish  post. 

It  started  with  a  five-mile  sprint — literally  five  miles 
of  hot  racing  in  which  each  horse  did  its  best.  And  in 
that  five  miles  Gray  Peter  would  most  unquestionably 
have  won  had  not  one  bit  of  luck  fallen  the  mare.  A 
hedge  of  young  evergreen  streaked  before  Sally,  and 
Andrew  put  her  at  the  mark;  she  cleared  it  like  a  bird, 
jumping  easily  and  landing  in  her  stride.  It  was  not  the 
first  time  she  had  jumped  with  Andrew. 

But  Gray  Peter  was  not  a  steeplechaser.  He  had  not 
been  trained  to  it,  and  he  refused.  His  rider  had  to 
whirl  and  go  up  the  line  of  shrubs  until  he  found  a  place 


HORSE  AGAINST  HORSE  217 

to  break  through.  Then  he  was  after  Sally  again.  But 
the  moment  that  Andrew  saw  the  marshal  had  been 
stopped  he  did  not  use  the  interim  to  push  the  mare  and 
increase  her  lead.  Very  wisely  he  drew  her  back  to  the 
long,  rocking  canter  which  was  her  natural  gait,  and 
Sally  got  the  breath  which  Gray  Peter  had  run  out  of 
her.  She  also  regained  priceless  lost  ground,  and  when 
the  gray  came  in  view  of  the  quarry  again  his  work  was 
all  to  do  over  again. 

Hal  Dozier  tried  again  in  straightaway  running.  It 
had  been  his  boast  that  nothing  under  the  saddle  in  the 
mountain  desert  could  keep  away  from  him  in  a  stretch 
of  any  distance,  and  he  rode  Gray  Peter  desperately  to 
make  his  boast  good.  He  failed.  If  that  first  stretch 
had  been  unbroken — but  there  his  chance  was  gone,  and, 
starting  the  second  spurt,  Andrew  came  to  realize  one 
greatly  important  truth — Sally  could  not  sprint  for  any 
distance,  but  up  to  a  certain  pace  she  ran  easily  and  with- 
out labor.  That  was  the  meaning  of  those  comparatively 
short  forelegs  and  the  high  croup  which  gave  the  slight 
and  awkward  down  pitch  to  her  figure — she  was  essen- 
tially a  distance  horse.  Gray  Peter  could  outfoot  her 
by  many  seconds  in  a  mile  sprint,  but,  kept  inside  a  cer- 
tain maximum,  she  ran  tirelessly.  He  made  it  his  point 
to  see  that  she  was  never  urged  beyond  that  pace.  He 
found  another  thing,  that  she  took  a  hill  in  far  better 
style  than  Peter,  and  she  did  far  better  in  the  rough,  but 
on  the  level  going  he  ate  up  her  handicap  swiftly. 

With  a  strength  of  his  own  found  and  a  weakness  in 
his  pursuer,  Andrew  played  remorselessly  to  that  weak- 
ness with  his  strength.  He  sought  the  choppy  ground 
as  a  preference  and  led  the  stallion  through  it  wherever 
he  could;  he  swung  to  the  right,  where  there  was  a 


218  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

stretch  of  rolling  hills,  and  once  more  Gray  Peter  had  a 
losing  space  before  him. 

So  they  came  to  the  river  itself,  with  Gray  Peter  com- 
fortably in  the  rear,  but  running  well  within  his  strength. 
Andrew  paused  in  the  shallows  to  allow  Sally  one  swal- 
low; then  he  went  on.  But  Dozier  did  not  pause  for 
even  this.  It  was  a  grave  mistake. 

And  so  the  miles  wore  on.  Sally  was  still  running 
like  a  swallow  for  lightness,  but  Andrew  knew  by  her 
breathing  that  she  was  giving  vital  strength  to  the  effort. 
He  talked  to  her  constantly.  He  told  her  how  Gray 
Peter  ran  behind  them.  He  encouraged  her  with  pet 
words.  And  Sally  seemed  to  understand,  for  she  flicked 
one  ear  back  to  listen,  and  then  she  pricked  them  both 
and  kept  at  her  work. 

It  was  a  heart-tearing  thing  to  see  her  run  to.  the  point 
of  lather  and  then  keep  on. 

They  were  in  low  hills,  and  Gray  Peter  was  losing 
steadily.  They  reached  a  broad  flat,  and  the  stallion 
gained  with  terrible  insistence.  Looking  back,  Andrew 
could  see  that  the  marshal  had  stripped  away  every  ves- 
tige of  his  pack.  He  followed  that  example  with  a 
groan.  And  still  Gray  Peter  gained.  He  went  forward 
in  the  stirrups  to  ease  the  mare  by  putting  more  weight 
on  her  forehand ;  and  still  Gray  Peter  gained. 

It  was  the  last  great  effort  for  the  stallion.  Before 
them  rose  the  foothills  of  the  Roydon  mountains;  be- 
hind them  the  Las  Casas  range  was  lost  in  mist.  It 
seemed  that  they  had  been  galloping  like  this  for  an  in- 
finity of  time,  and  Andrew  was  numb  from  the  shoulders 
down.  If  he  reached  those  hills  Gray  Peter  was  beaten. 
He  knew  it ;  Hal  Dozier  knew  it ;  and  the  two  great  horses 
gave  all  their  strength  to  the  last  duel  of  the  race. 

The  ears  of  Sally  no  longer  pricked.     They  lay  flat 


HORSE  AGAINST  HORSE  219 

on  her  neck.  The  amazing  lift  was  gone  from  her  gait, 
and  she  pounded  heavily  with  the  forelegs.  And  still 
she  struggled  on.  He  looked  back,  and  Gray  Peter  still 
gained,  an  inch  at  a  time,  and  his  stride  did  not  seem  to 
have  abated.  The  one  bitter  question  now  was  whether 
Sally  would  not  collapse  under  the  effort.  With  every 
lurch  of  her  feet,  Andrew  expected  to  feel  her  crumble 
beneath  him.  And  yet  she  went  on.  Courage?  She 
was  all  courage!  She  was  all  heart,  all  nerve,  and  run- 
ning on  it.  Behind  her  came  Gray  Peter,  and  he  also 
ran  with  his  head  stretched  out. 

He  was  within  rifle  range  now.  Why  did  not  Dozier 
fire?  Perhaps  he  had  set  his  heart  on  actually  running 
Sally  down,  not  dropping  his  prey  with  a  distant  shot. 

And  still  they  flew  across  the  flat.  The  hills  were  close 
now,»an$l  sometimes,  when  the  drizzling  rain  which  had 
wet  A'ndrew  to  the  skin  and  chilled  him  to  the  bone  lifted, 
it  seemed  that  the  Roydon  mountains  were  exactly  above 
them,  leaning  out  over  him  like  a  shadow.  He  called  on 
Sally  again  and  again.  He  touched  her  for  the  first  time 
in  her  life  with  spurs,  and  she  found  something  in  the 
depths  of  her  heart  and  her  courage  to  answer  with. 
She  ran  again  with  a  ghost  of  her  former  buoyancy, 
and  Gray  Peter  was  held  even. 

Not  an  inch  could  he  gain  after  that.  Andrew  saw 
his  pursuer  raise  his  quirt  and  flog.  It  was  useless. 
Each  horse  was  running  itself  out,  and  no  power  could 
get  more  speed  out  of  the  pounding  limbs. 

And  with  his  head  still  turned,  Andrew  felt  a  shock 
and  flounder.  Sally  had  almost  fallen.  He  jerked 
sharply  up  on  the  reins,  and  she  broke  into  a  staggering 
trot.  Then  Andrew  saw  that  they  had  struck  the  slope 
of  the  first  hill,  a  long,  smooth  rise  which  she  would  have 
taken  at  full  speed  in  the  beginning  of  the  race,  but  now 


220  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

it  broke  her  heart  to  make  it.  He  called  to  her;  he 
spurred  again ;  the  trot  quickened,  but  though  she  labored 
bitterly,  she  could  not  raise  a  gallop.  The  trot  was  her 
best  effort. 

There  was  a  shrill  yelling  behind,  and  Andrew  saw 
Dozier,  a  hand  brandished  above  his  head.  He  had  seen 
Sally  break  down;  .Gray  Peter  would  catch  her;  his 
horse  would  win  that  famous  duel  of  speed  and  courage. 
Rifle?  He  had  forgotten  his  rifle.  He  would  go  in, 
he  would  overhaul  Sally,  and  then  finish  the  chase  with 
a  play  of  revolvers.  And  in  expectation  of  that  end, 
Andrew  drew  his  revolver.  It  hung  the  length  of  his 
arm;  he  found  that  his  muscles  were  numb  from  the 
cold  and  the  cramped  position  from  the  elbow  down. 
Shoot  ?  He  was  as  helpless  as  though  he  had  no  gun  at 
all.  His  hand  shook  crazily  under  the  strain.  And  in 
the  meantime,  flogging  with  his  quirt,  no  doubt  the 
marshal  had  kept  his  blood  in  circulation. 

It  gave  Andrew  a  nightmare  sensation,  as  of  one  fleeing 
in  his  sleep  up  a  long  stairs — only  a  step  to  gain  safety, 
and  yet  his  feet  are  turned  to  lead,  and  the  horror  rushes 
like  the  wind  upon  him  from  behind.  He  beat  his  hands 
together  to  bring  back  the  blood.  He  bit  the  cold  fin- 
gers. He  thrashed  his  arms  against  the  pommel  of  the 
saddle.  There  was  only  a  dull  pain;  it  would  take  long 
minutes  to  bring  those  hands  back  to  the  point  of  serv- 
ice, and  in  the  meantime  Gray  Peter  galloped  upon  him 
from  behind ! 

Well,  he  would  let  Sally  do  her  best.  For  the  last 
time  he  called  on  her;  for  the  last  time  she  struggled  to 
respond,  and  Andrew  looked  back  and  grimly  watched 
the  stallion  sweeping  across  the  last  portion  of  the  flat 
ground,  closer,  closer,  and  then,  at  the  very  base  of  the 


HORSE  AGAINST  HORSE  221 

slope,  Gray  Peter  tossed  up  his  head,  floundered,  and 
went  down,  hurling  his  rider  over  his  head. 

Andrew,  fascinated,  let  Sally  fall  into  a  walk,  while  he 
watched.  He  was  now  in  point-blank  range  of  that 
deadly  rifle,  but  he  forgot  his  own  danger  in  watching 
the  singular,  convulsive  struggles  of  Gray  Peter  to  gain 
his  feet.  Hal  Dozier  was  up  again;  he  ran  to  his  horse, 
caught  his  head,  and  at  the  same  moment  the  stallion 
grew  suddenly  limp.  The  weight  of  his  head  dragged 
the  marshal  down,  and  then  Andrew  saw  that  Dozier 
made  no  effort  to  rise  again. 

He  sat  with  the  head  of  the  horse  in  his  lap,  his  own 
head  buried  in  his  hands,  and  Andrew  knew  then  that 
Gray  Peter  was  dead. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 
"THE  INNER  SHRINE" 

HpHE  mare  herself  was  in  a  far  from  safe  condition. 
1  And  if  the  marshal  had  roused  himself  from  his 
grief  and  hurried  up  the  slope  on  foot  he  would  have 
found  the  fugitive  out  of  the  saddle  and  walking  by  the 
side  of  the  played-out  Sally,  forcing  her  with  slaps  on 
the  hip  to  keep  in  motion.  She  went  on,  stumbling,  her 
head  down,  and  the  sound  of  her  breathing  was  a  hor- 
rible thing  to  hear.  But  she  must  keep  in  motion,  for, 
if  she  stopped  in  this  condition,  Sally  would  never  run 
again. 

Andrew  forced  her  relentlessly  on.  At  length  her 
head  came  up  a  little  and  her  breathing  was  easier  and 
easier.  Before  dark  that  night  he  came  on  a  deserted 
shanty,  and  there  he  took  Sally  under  the  shelter,  and, 
tearing  up  the  floor,  he  built  a  fire  which  dried  them  both. 
The  following  day  he  walked  again,  with  Sally  follow- 
ing like  a  dog  at  his  heels.  One  day  later  he  was  in  the 
saddle  again,  and  Sally  was  herself  once  more.  Give 
her  one  feed  of  grain,  and  she  would  have  ran  again 
that  famous  race  from  beginning  to  end. 

But  Andrew,  stealing  out  of  the  Roydon  mountains 
into  the  lower  ground,  had  no  thought  of  another  race. 
He  was  among  a  district  of  many  houses,  many  men, 
and,  for  the  final  stage  of  his  journey,  he  waited  until 
after  dusk  had  come  and  then  saddled  Sally  and  can- 
tered into  the  valley. 

It  was  late  on  the  fourth  night  after  he  left  Los  Toros 


"THE  INNER  SHRINE"  223 

that  Andrew  came  again  to  the  house  of  John  Merchant 
and  left  Sally  in  the  very  place  among  the  trees  where 
the  pinto  had  stood  before.  There  was  no  danger  of  dis- 
covery on  his  approach,  for  it  was  a  wild  night  of  wind 
and  rain.  The  drizzling  mists  of  the  last  three  days  had 
turned  into  a  steady  downpour,  and  rivers  of  water  had 
been  running  from  his  slicker  on  the  way  to  the  ranch 
house.  Now  he  put  the  slicker  behind  the  saddle,  and 
from  the  shelter  of  the  trees  surveyed  the  house. 

It  was  bursting  with  music  and  light;  every  moment 
or  so  automobiles,  laboring  through  the  mud,  hummed  up 
to  the  house  or  left  it,  bringing  guests  and  taking  them 
away ;  it  must  be  the  reception  before  the  wedding.  For 
some  reason  he  had  always  imagined  the  house  wrapped 
in  black  night  as  it  was  the  time  of  his  first  coming,  and 
it  baffled  him,  this  music,  this  noise,  this  radiance  behind 
every  wind.  Sometimes  the  front  door  was  opened  and 
voices  stole  out  to  him;  sometimes  even  through  the 
closed  door  he  heard  the  ghostly  tinkling  of  some  girl's 
laughter. 

And  that  was  to  Andrew  the  most  melancholy  sound 
in  the  world. 

The  rain,  trickling  even  through  the  foliage  of  the 
evergreen,  decided  him  to  act  at  once.  It  might  be  that 
all  the  noise  and  light  were,  after  all,  an  advantage  to 
him,  and,  running  close  to  the  ground,  he  skulked  across 
the  dangerous  open  stretch  and  came  into  the  safe  shadow 
of  the  wall  of  the  house. 

Once  there,  it  was  easy  to  go  up  to  the  roof  by  one 
of  the  rain  pipes,  the  same  low  roof  from  which  he  had 
escaped  on  the  time  of  his  last  visit.  On  the  roof  the 
rush  and  drumming  of  the  rain  quite  covered  any  sound 
he  made,  but  he  was  drenched  before  he  reached  the 
window  of  Anne's  room.  Could  he  be  sure  that  on  her 


224  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

second  visit  she  would  have  the  same  room?  He  set- 
tled that  by  a  single  glance.  The  curtain  was  not  drawn, 
and  a  lamp,  turned  low,  burned  on  the  table  beside  the 
bed.  The  room  was  quite  empty.  The  lamp  reassured 
him,  for  the  first  person  to  enter  the  apartment  would 
be  sure  to  turn  up  the  wick. 

The  window  was  fastened,  but  he  worked  back  the 
fastening  iron  with  the  blade  of  his  knife  and  raised  him- 
self into  the  room.  He  closed  the  window  behind  him. 
At  once  the  noise  of  rain  and  the  shouting  of  the  wind 
faded  off  into  a  distance,  and  the  voices  of  the  house 
came  more  clearly  to  him.  But  he  dared  not  stay  to 
listen,  for  the  water  was  dripping  around  him;  he  must 
move  before  a  large  dark  spot  showed  on  the  carpet,  and 
he  saw,  moreover,  exactly  where  he  could  best  hide. 
There  was  a  heavily  curtained  alcove  at  one  end  of  the 
room,  and  behind  this  shelter  he  hid  himself.  In  case 
of  a  crisis  the  window  was  straight  ahead  of  him;  also, 
he  could  watch  the  door  into  the  hall  by  pushing  back  the 
curtain. 

And  here  he  waited.  How  would  she  come?  Would 
there  be  some  one  with  her  ?  Would  she  come  laughing, 
with  all  the  triumph  of  the  dance  bright  in  her  face  ? 

Behind  him  and  about  him  he  touched  silken  things,  a 
mingling  of  fragrances  reached  him;  apparently  he  had 
found  the  closet  she  used  as  a  dressing  room  and  every 
sight  and  scent — for  a  twilight  came  from  the  lamp  and 
stole  through  above  the  curtain — spoke  of  Anne  Withero 
and  of  her  gentleness  and  all  that  nameless  purity  which 
he  connected  with  her.  He  fell  into  a  sort  of  sad-happy 
dream  behind  the  curtain.  Vaguely  he  heard  the  shrill 
droning  of  the  violins  die  away  beneath  him,  and  the 
slipping  of  many  dancing  feet  on  a  smooth  floor  fell  to 
a  whisper  and  then  ceased.  Voices  sounded  in  the  hall, 


"THE  INNER  SHRINE"  225 

but  he  gave  no  heed  to  the  meaning  of  all  this.  Not 
even  the  squawking  of  horns,  as  automobiles  drove  away, 
conveyed  any  thought  to  him;  he  wrished  that  this  mo- 
ment could  be  suspended  to  an  eternity. 

Parties  of  people  were  going  down  the  hall;  he  heard 
soft  flights  of  laughter  and  many  young  voices.  People 
were  calling  gayly  to  one  another  and  then  by  an  inner 
sense  rather  than  by  a  sound  he  knew  that  the  door  was 
opened  into  the  room.  He  leaned  and  looked,  and  he 
saw  Anne  Withero  close  the  door  behind  her  and  lean 
against  it.  In  the  joy  of  her  triumph  that  evening? 

No,  her  head  was  fallen,  and  he  saw  the  gleam  of  her 
hand  at  her  breast.  He  could  not  see  her  face  clearly, 
but  the  bent  head  spoke  eloquently  of  defeat.  She  came 
forward  at  length. 

Thinking  of  her  as  the  reigning  power  in  that  dance 
and  all  the  merriment  below  him,  Andrew  had  been  im- 
agining her  tall,  strong,  with  compelling  eyes  command- 
ing admiration.  He  found  all  at  once  that  she  was  small, 
very  small;  and  her  hair  was  not  that  keen  fire  which 
he  had  pictured.  It  was  simply  a  coppery  glow,  mar- 
velously  delicate,  molding  her  face.  She  went  to  a  great 
full-length  mirror;  he  had  not  seen  it  until  her  reflection 
suddenly  flashed  out  at  him  from  it  with  a  touch  of  dull- 
green  fire  at  her  throat.  Was  that  a  jewel? 

He  had  not  time  to  see.  She  had  raised  her  head  for 
one  instant  to  look  at  her  image,  and  then  she  bowed  her 
head  again  and  placed  her  hand  against  the  edge  of  the 
mirror  for  support.  Little  by  little,  through  the  half 
light,  he  was  making  her  out  and  now  the  curve  of  this 
arm,  from  wrist  to  shoulder,  went  through  Andrew  like 
a  phrase  of  music.  He  stepped  out  from  behind  the 
curtain,  and,  at  the  sound  of  the  cloth  swishing  back  into 
place,  she  whirled  on  him. 


226  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

If  he  could  have  had  a  picture  of  her  as  she  stood 
there  with  the  first  fear  parting  her  lips  and  darkening 
her  eyes,  I  suppose  that  Andrew  Lanning  would  have 
parted  with  the  rest  of  Anne  Withero  with  small  pain 
indeed. 

"I've  come  to  do  no  harm,"  he  said  hastily.  "Do  not 
be  afraid!" 

She  was  speechless;  her  raised  hand  did  not  fall;  it 
was  as  if  she  were  frozen  where  she  stood. 

"I  shall  leave  you  at  once,"  said  Andrew  quietly,  "if 
you  are  badly  frightened.  You  have  only  to  tell  me." 

He  had  come  closer.  Now  he  was  astonished  to  see 
her  turn  swiftly  toward  the  door  and  touch  his  arm  with 
her  hand.  "Hush!"  she  said.  "Hush!  They  may 
hear  you !" 

She  glided  to  the  door  into  the  hall  and  turned  the 
lock  softly  and  came  to  him  again. 

It  made  Andrew  weak  to  see  her  so  close,  and  he 
searched  her  face  with  a  hungry  and  jealous  fear,  lest 
she  should  be  different  from  his  dream  of  her.  "You 
are  the  same,"  he  said  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "And  you 
are  not  afraid  of  me?" 

"Hush!  Hush!"  she  repeated.  "Afraid  of  you? 
Don't  you  see  that  I'm  happy,  happy,  happy  to  see  you 
again?" 

She  drew  him  forward  a  little,  and  her  hand  touched 
his  as  she  did  so.  She  turned  up  the  lamp,  and  a  flood 
of  strong  yellow  light  went  over  the  room. 

"But  you  have  changed,"  said  Anne  Withero  with  a 
little  cry.  "Oh,  you  have  changed!  What  have  they 
been  doing  to  you?" 

He  was  dumb.  Something  cold  that  had  been  form- 
ing about  his  heart  was  breaking  away  and  crumbling, 
and  a  strange  warmth  and  weakness  was  coming  in  his 


"THE  INNER  SHRINE"  227 

blood.  She  was  answering  her  own  question.  "I  know. 
They've  been  hounding  you — the  cowards !" 

"Does  it  make  no  difference  to  you — all  that  I've 
done  ?"  asked  Andrew. 

"What  is  it  that  should  make  a  difference?" 

"I  have  killed  a  man." 

"Ah,  it  was  that  brother  to  the  Dozier  man.  But  I've 
learned  about  him.  He  was  a  bloodhound  like  his 
brother,  but  treacherous.  I've  learned  everything  about 
him,  and  people  say  it  was  a  good  thing  that  he  died. 
Besides,  it  was  in  fair  fight.  Fair  fight?  It  was  one 
against  six !" 

"Don't,"  said  Andrew,  breathing  hard,  "don't  say 
that!  You  make  me  feel  that  it's  almost  right  to  have 
done  what  I've  done.  But  besides  him — all  the  rest — do 
they  make  no  difference  ?" 

"All  of  what?" 

"People  say  things  about  me.  They  even  print 
them."  He  winced  as  he  spoke. 

But  she  was  fierce  again;  her  passion  made  her  tremble. 

"When  I  think  of  it !"  she  murmured.  "When  I  think 
of  it,  the  rotten  injustice  makes  me  want  to  choke  'em 
all!  Why,  to-day  I  heard — I  can't  repeat  it.  It  makes 
me  sick — sick!  And  you're  only  a  boy,  Andrew  Lan- 
ning!" 

It  was  a  staggering  blow.  He  was  not  altogether 
sure  that  he  was  glad  to  hear  this  statement.  He  made 
himself  his  full  height. 

"Some  people  would  smile  if  they  heard  you  say  that," 
said  Andrew. 

"If  you  draw  yourself  up  like  that  again  I'll  laugh  at 
you.  Andrew  Lanning,  I  say,  you're  just  a  boy.  You're 
not  two  years  older  than  I  am.  Why,  they've  hounded 
you  and  bullied  you  until  they've  made  you  think  you  are 


228  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

bad,  Andrew.  They've  even  made  you  a  little  bit  proud 
of  the  hard  things  people  say  about  you.  Isn't  that 
true?" 

Was  it  any  wonder  that  Andrew  could  not  answer? 
He  felt  all  at  once  so  supple  that  he  was  hot  tallow  which 
those  small  fingers  would  mold  and  bend  to  suit  them- 
selves. 

"Sit  down  here!"  she  commanded. 

Meekly  he  obeyed.  He  sat  on  the  edge  of  his  chair, 
with  his  hat  held  with  both  hands,  and  his  eyes  widened 
as  he  stared  at  her — like  a  person  coming  out  of  a  great 
darkness  into  a  great  light. 

And  tears  came  into  the  eyes  of  the  girl. 

"You're  as  thin  as  a  starved — wolf,"  she  said,  and 
closed  her  eyes  and  shuddered. 

"And  all  the  time  I've  been  thinking  of  you  as  you 
were  when  I  saw  you  here  before — the  same  clear,  steady 
eyes  and  the  same  direct  smile.  Oh,  you  see,  I've  never 
forgotten  that  night!  What  girl  would?  It  was  like 
something  out  of  a  play — but  so  much  finer!  But 
they've  made  you  older — they've  burned  the  boy  out  of 
you  with  pain!  And  I've  been  thinking  about  you  just 
cantering  through  wild,  gay  adventures.  Are  you  ill 
now?" 

He  had  leaned  back  in  the  chair  and  gathered  his  hat 
close  to  his  breast,  crushing  it. 

"I'm  not  ill,"  said  Andrew.  His  voice  was  hoarse 
and  thick.  "I'm  just  listening  to  you.  Go  on  tod 
talk." 

"About  you?"  asked  the  girl. 

"I  don't  hear  your  words — hardly;  I  just  hear  the 
sound  you  make."  He  leaned  forward  again  and  cast 
out  his  arm  so  that  the  palm  of  his  hand  was  turned  up 
beneath  her  eyes.  She  could  see  the  long,  lean  fingers. 


"THE  INNER  SHRINE"  229 

It  suddenly  came  home  to  her  that  every  strong  man  in 
the  mountain  desert  was  in  deadly  terror  of  that  hand. 
Anne  Withero  was  shaken  for  the  first  time,  and  her 
smile  went  out. 

"Listen  to  me,"  he  was  saying  in  that  tense  whisper 
which  was  oddly  like  the  tremor  of  his  hand,  "I've  been 
hungry  for  that  voice  all  these  weeks — and  months — 
and  thousands  of  years.  Go  on  and  talk !" 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I'm  going  to  do,"  said  the  girl,  very 
grave.  "I'm  going  to  break  up  this  cowardly  conspiracy 
against  you.  I've  written  to  my  father  to  get  the  finest 
lawyer  in  the  land  and  send  him  out  here  to  make  you 
—legal — again.  Oh,  I  wrote  a  letter  that'll  make  dad's 
blood  boil !  You'll  have  to  meet  dad,  Andrew  Lanning." 

He  began  to  smile,  and  shook  his  head. 

"It's  no  use,"  he  said.  "Perhaps  your  lawyer  could 
help  me  on  account  of  Bill's  death,  but  he  couldn't  help 
me  from  Hal." 

"Are  you — do  you  mean  you're  going  to  fight  the 
other  man,  too?" 

"He  killed  his  horse  chasing  me,"  said  Andrew.  "I 
couldn't  stop  to  fight  him  because  I  was  comin'  down 
here  to  see  you.  But  when  I  go  away  I've  got  to  find 
him  and  give  him  a  chance  back  at  me.  It's  only  fair." 

"Because  he  killed  a  horse  trying  to  get  you  you're  go- 
ing to  give  him  a  chance  to  shoot  you?" 

Her  voice  had  become  shrill.  She  lowered  it  instinc- 
tively toward  the  end  and  cast  a  glance  of  apprehension 
toward  the  door. 

"You  are  quite  mad,"  said  the  girl. 

"You  don't  understand,"  said  Andrew.  "His  horse 
was  Gray  Peter — the  stallion." 

The  simple  sentence  seemed  to  mark  the  vast  gulf  of 
difference  between  them.  She  only  stared  at  Andrew, 


230  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

and  for  the  first  time  she  grew  aware  of  the  fact  that 
he  was  dripping  on  her  carpet  and  that  his  clothes  were 
tattered — remarkably  ragged,  in  fact — and  that  he  was 
by  no  means  clean. 

"I've  ridden  Gray  Peter  myself,"  went  on  Andrew. 
"And  I  would  rather  have  killed  a  man  than  have  seen 
Gray  Peter  die.  Hal  had  Peter's  head  in  his  arms,"  he 
added  softly.  "And  he'll  never  give  up  the  trail  until 
he's  had  it  out  with  me.  He  wouldn't  be  half  a  man  if 
he  let  things  drop  now." 

And  she  forgot  the  dripping,  the  ragged  clothes,  the 
dirt.  In  some  manner  she  saw  the  whole  picture  of  the 
death  of  Gray  Peter  in  the  saddened  face  of  Andrew. 
If  she  had  felt  above  him  the  moment  before  she  now 
felt  infinitely  beneath  him. 

"So  you  have  to  fight  Hal  Dozier?" 

"Yes." 

"But  when  that's  done " 

"When  that's  done  one  of  us  will  be  dead.  If  it's  me, 
of  course,  there's  no  use  worryin' ;  if  it's  Hal,  of  course, 
I'm  done  in  the  eyes  of  the  law.  Two — murders !" 

His  eyes  glinted  and  his  fingers  quivered.  It  sent  a 
cold  thrill  through  the  girl. 

"But  they  say  he's  a  terrible  man,  Andrew.  You 
wouldn't  let  him  catch  you?" 

"I  won't  stand  and  wait  for  him,"  said  Andrew 
gravely.  "But  if  we  fight  I  think  I'll  kill  him." 

It  was  said  with  perfect  lack  of  braggadocio. 

"What  makes  you  think  that?"  She  was  more  curi- 
ous than  shocked. 

"It's  just  a  sort  of  feeling  that  you  get  when  you  look 
at  a  man;  either  you're  his  master  or  you  aren't.  You 
see  it  in  a  flash." 


"THE  INNER  SHRINE"  231 

"Have  you  ever  seen  your  master?"  asked  the  girl 
slowly. 

'Til  want  to  die  when  I  see  that,"  he  said  simply. 

Suddenly  she  clenched  her  hands  and  sat  straight  up. 

"It's  got  to  be  stopped,"  she  said  hotly.  "It's  all  non- 
sense, and  I'm  going  to  see  that  you're  both  stopped." 

"You  can't  stop  me." 

She  was  not  angry,  but  very  curious.  It  was,  in  fact, 
difficult  to  be  angry  with  a  man  who  kept  his  eyes  upon 
her  with  a  look  of  mortal  hunger,  mortal  stillness. 

"Of  course,"  she  said,  without  smiling,  "I'm  not  a 
fighting  man." 

It  was  as  though,  when  words  failed  him,  he  relied 
upon  a  gesture  to  take  their  place.  She  followed  the 
glint  of  his  eyes  and  the  movement  of  his  hand,  and 
was  sorry  she  had  made  that  last  remark.  Too  late  she 
knew  she  had  precipitated  the  trouble.  She  would  have 
stopped  him,  but  it  was  like  raising  a  hand  to  halt  an 
avalanche.  She  felt  lost,  as  though  a  horse  had  taken 
the  bit  in  his  teeth  and  was  whirling  her  on  into  dan- 
ger, out  of  control.  The  emotion  which  had  been  in  the 
quivering  gesture  of  his  hand  and  in  the  glint  of  his 
eyes  was  stamped  freely  on  his  whole  face  now.  It  was 
in  his  pallor,  in  the  deep  lines  beside  the  mouth,  in  his 
very  deep  breathing,  and,  above  all,  it  flowed  into  the 
quality  of  his  voice,  which  did  not  rise  in  pitch  or  in  vol- 
ume, but  which  took  on  a  peculiar  edge — something  that 
went  to  her  heart. 

"Four  days  ago,"  he  said,  "you  could  have  taken  me 
in  the  hollow  of  your  hand.  I  would  have  come  to  you 
and  gone  from  you  at  a  nod.  That  time  is  about  to 
end." 

He  paused  a  little,  and  looked  at  her  in  such  a  man- 
ner that  she  was  frightened,  but  it  was  a  pleasant  fear. 


232  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

It  made  her  interlace  her  ringers  with  nervous  anxiety, 
but  it  set  a  fire  in  her  eyes. 

'That  time  is  ending,"  said  Andrew.  "You  are  about 
to  be  married." 

"And  after  that  you  will  never  look  at  me  again,  never 
think  of  me  again?" 

"I  hope  not,"  he  answered.  "I  strongly  hope  not.  I 
shall  make  myself  busy  with  that  purpose." 

"But  why?     Is  a  marriage  a  blot  or  a  stain?" 

"It  is  a  barrier,"  he  answered. 

"Even  to  thoughts?     Even  to  friendship?" 

"Yes." 

A  very  strange  thing  happened  in  the  excited  mind  of 
Anne  Withero.  It  seemed  to  her  that  Charles  Mer- 
chant sat,  a  filmy  ghost,  beside  this  tattered  fugitive. 
He  was  speaking  the  same  words  that  Andrew  spoke, 
but  his  voice  and  his  manner  were  to  Andrew  Lanning 
what  moonshine  is  to  sunlight.  She  had  looked  upon 
marriage  simply  as  an  acquisition,  a  gain,  an  inevitable 
event  toward  which  all  womankind  must  move.  And 
now  a  new  point  of  view  was  opened  to  her,  and  she 
saw  marriage  as  a  bitter  loss,  a  great  gain  and  a  great 
sacrifice,  a  chance  for  joy  and  a  certainty  for  aching 
sorrow,  an  inevitable  trial  by  fire  to  which  all  woman- 
kind moves.  She  had  been  thinking  of  Charles  Mer- 
chant as  a  social  asset;  she  began  to  think  of  him  now 
as  a  possessing  force.  Anne  Withero  possessed  by 
Charlie  Merchant!  A  faded  smile  came  and  went  on 
her  lips. 

"What  you  have  told  me,"  she  said,  "means  more  than 
you  may  think  to  me.  Have  you  come  all  this  distance 
to  tell  me?" 

"All  this  distance  to  talk?"  he  said.  He  seemed  to 
sit  back  and  wonder.  "Have  I  traveled  four  days?"  he 


"THE  INNER  SHRINE"  233 

went  on.  "Has  Gray  Peter  died,  and  have  I  been  under 
Hal  Dozier's  rifle  only  to  speak  to  you?"  He  suddenly 
recalled  himself. 

"No,  no!  I  have  come  to  give  you  a  wedding  pres- 
ent/' 

He  watched  her  color  change. 

"Are  you  angry?     Is  it  wrong  to  give  you  a  present?'* 

"No,"  she  answered  in  a  singular,  stifled  voice. 

"It  is  this  watch."  It  was  a  large  gold  watch  and  a 
chain  of  very  old  make  that  he  put  into  her  hand.  "It 
is  for  your  son,"  said  Andrew. 

She  stood  up;  he  rose  instinctively. 

"When  I  look  at  it  I'm  to  remember  that  you  are  for- 
getting me?" 

A  little  hush  fell  upon  them. 

"Are  you  laughing  at  me,  Anne?" 

He  had  never  called  her  by  her  name  before,  and  yet 
it  came  as  naturally  upon  his  lips  as  a  child's  name,  say, 
comes  upon  the  tongue  of  its  playmate. 

She  stood,  indeed,  with  the  same  smile  upon  her  lips, 
but  her  eyes  were  fixed  and  looked  straight  past  him. 
They  were  dim  and  obscured  by  moisture.  And  pres- 
ently he  saw  a  tear  pass  slowly  down  her  face.  Her 
hand  remained  without  moving,  with  the  watch  in  it 
exactly  as  he  had  placed  it  there.  A  great  awe  came 
upon  Andrew.  All  before  he  had  felt  that  he  was  the 
master  with  the  upper  hand  while  they  talked  together. 

But  now  she  wept,  and  his  heart  was  humbled.  It 
shocked  him  and  crushed  him  with  a  feeling  that  in  her 
were  motives  so  deeply  drawn,  flowing  from  sources  so 
remote  that  he  could  never  have  understood  her  even  if 
she  were  to  speak.  All  that  mysterious  power  which  is 
womanhood  came  upon  him  and  about  him  like  still  and 
holy  things — the  whisper  of  rain  in  the  evening  when 


234  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

it  is  easiest  to  die,  the  pure  and  melancholy  cold  of 
autumn,  the  fragrance  of  a  garden  passed  unknown  in 
the  night. 

It  became  impossible  for  him  to  bear  the  sight  of  her 
eyes.  If  he  remained  she  might  speak,  and  he  feared  to 
hear  her.  A  sense  of  a  third  presence,  of  another  soul 
in  the  room  overwhelmed  him;  he  could  not  give  it  a 
name,  and  therefore  he  called  it  God. 

She  had  not  stirred  when  he  slipped  without  a  noise 
through  the  window  and  was  instantly  swallowed  in  the 
rushing  of  the  wind  and  rain. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

BESS   BALDWIN 

THERE  was,  as  Andrew  had  understood  for  a  long 
time,  a  sort  of  underground  world  of  criminals  even 
here  on  the  mountain  desert.  Otherwise  the  criminals 
could  not  have  existed  for  even  a  moment  in  the  face 
of  the  organized  strength  of  lawful  society.  Several 
times  in  the  course  of  his  wanderings  Andrew  had  come 
in  contact  with  links  of  the  underground  chain,  and  he 
learned  what  every  fugitive  learns — the  safe  stopping 
points  in  the  great  circuit  of  his  flight. 

Three  elements  went  into  the  making  of  that  hidden 
society.  There  was  first  of  all  the  circulating  and  active 
part,  and  this  was  composed  of  men  actually  known  to 
be  under  the  ban  of  the  law  and  openly  defying  it.  It 
was  the  smallest  component  part  of  the  whole,  and  yet 
it  was  the  part  with  which  law-abiding  society  occupied 
itself  mostly.  Beneath  this  active  group  lay  a  stratum 
much  larger  which  served  as  a  base  for  the  operating 
criminals.  This  stratum  was  built  entirely  of  men  who 
had  at  one  time  been  incriminated  in  shady  dealings  of 
one  sort  and  another.  It  included  lawbreakers  from  every 
part  of  the  world,  men  who  had  fled  first  of  all  to  the 
shelter  of  the  mountain  desert  and  who  had  lived  there 
until  their  past  was  even  forgotten  in  the  lands  from 
which  they  came.  But  they  had  never  lost  the  inevi- 
table sympathy  for  their  more  active  fellows,  and  in  this 
class  there  was  included  a  meaner  element — men  who 
had  in  the  past  committed  crimes  in  the  mountain  desert 


236  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

itself  and  who,  from  time  to  time,  when  they  saw  an 
absolutely  safe  opportunity,  were  perfectly  ready  and 
willing  to  sin  again. 

The  third  and  largest  of  all  the  elements  in  the  crimi- 
nal world  of  the  desert  was  a  shifting  and  changing  class 
of  men  who  might  be  called  the  paid  adherents  of  the 
active  order.  The  "long  riders,"  acting  in  groups  or 
singly,  fled  after  the  commission  of  a  crime  and  were 
forced  to  find  places  of  rest  and  concealment  along  their 
journey.  Under  this  grave  necessity  they  quickly  learned 
what  people  on  their  way  could  be  hired  as  hosts  and 
whose  silence  and  passive  aid  could  be  bought.  Such 
men  were  secured  in  the  first  place  by  handsome  bribes. 
And  very  often  they  joined  the  ranks  unwillingly.  But 
when  some  peaceful  householder  was  confronted  by  a 
desperate  man,  armed,  on  a  weary  horse — perhaps  stained 
from  a  wound — the  householder  was  by  no  means  ready 
to  challenge  the  man's  right  to  hospitality.  He  never 
knew  when  the  stranger  would  take  by  force  what  was 
refused  to  him  freely,  and,  if  the  lawbreaker  took  by 
force,  he  was  apt  to  cover  his  trail  by  a  fresh  killing. 

Of  course,  such  killings  took  place  only  when  the  "long 
rider"  was  a  desperate  brute  rather  than  a  man,  but 
enough  of  them  had  occurred  to  call  up  vivid  examples 
to  every  householder  who  was  accosted.  As  a  rule  he 
submitted  to  receive  the  unwelcome  guest.  Also,  as  a 
rule,  he  was  weak  enough  to  accept  a  gift  when  the 
stranger  parted.  Once  such  a  gift  was  taken,  he  was 
lost.  His  name  was  instantly  passed  on  by  the  fugitive 
to  his  fellows  as  a  "safe"  man ;  other  "long  riders"  were 
sure  to  come  to  his  door  quietly  and  ask  shelter  or' food 
or  some  trifle  in  equipment.  They  always  paid  hand- 
somely for  what  they  received,  and  if  they  had  to  take 
on  credit  they  were  certain  to  pay  doubly  when  they 


BESS  BALDWIN  237 

were  again  in  funds.  It  was  a  point  of  honor.  And 
so  the  innocent  householder,  drawn  into  the  underground 
circle  by  force  and  retained  there  by  bribes,  was  kept  in 
the  new  world.  Once  fairly  in,  he  could  not  withdraw. 
Before  long  he  became,  against  or  with  his  will,  a  deposi- 
tory of  secrets — banned  faces  became  known  to  him. 
And  if  he  suddenly  decided  to  withdraw  from  that  crimi- 
nal world  his  case  was  most  precarious. 

The  "long  riders"  admitted  no  neutrals.  If  a  man 
had  once  been  with  them  he  could  only  leave  them  to  be- 
come an  enemy.  He  became  open  prey.  His  name  was 
published  abroad.  Then  his  cattle  were  apt  to  disap- 
pear. His  stacks  of  hay  might  catch  fire  unexpectedly 
at  night.  His  house  itself  might  be  plundered,  and,  in 
not  infrequent  cases,  the  man  himself  was  brutally  mur- 
dered. It  was  part  of  a  code  no  less  binding  because  it 
was  unwritten. 

All  of  this  Andrew  was  more  or  less  aware  of,  and 
scores  of  names  had  been  mentioned  to  him  by  chance 
acquaintances  of  "the  road."  Such  names  he  stored 
away,  for  he  had  always  felt  that  time  impending  of 
which  Henry  Allister  had  warned  him,  the  time  when  he 
must  openly  forget  his  scruples  and  take  to  a  career  of 
crime.  That  time,  he  now  knew,  was  come  upon  him. 

It  would  be  misrepresenting  Andrew  to  say  that  he 
shrank  from  the  future.  Rather  he  accepted  it  with  a 
fierce  joy.  It  offered  him  a  swift  life  of  action,  an  all- 
absorbing  career,  a  chance  for  forgetfulness  of  the  one 
thing  that  had  until  now,  held  him  back  with  a  meager 
leash.  He  accepted  everything  that  lay  before  him 
whole-heartedly,  and,  with  the  laying  aside  of  his  scru- 
ples, there  was  an  instant  lightening  of  the  heart,  a  fierce 
keenness  of  mind,  a  contempt  for  society,  a  disregard  for 
life  beginning  with  his  own.  One  could  have  noted  it 


238  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

in  the  recklessness  with  which  he  sent  Sally  up  the  slope 
away  from  the  ranch  house  this  night. 

He  had  made  up  his  mind  immediately  to  hunt  out  a 
"safe"  man,  recently  mentioned  to  him  by  that  uncon- 
scionable scapegrace  Harry  Woods,  crooked  gambler, 
thief  of  small  and  large,  and  whilom  murderer.  The 
man's  name  was  Garry  Baldwin,  a  small  rancher,  some 
half  day's  ride  above  Sullivan's  place  in  the  valley.  He 
was  recommended  as  a  man  of  silence.  In  that  direc- 
tion Andrew  took  his  way,  but,  coming  in  the  hills  to  a 
dished-out  place  on  a  hillside,  where  there  was  a  natu- 
ral shelter  from  both  wind  and  rain,  he  stopped  there 
for  the  rest  of  the  night,  cooked  a  meal,  rolled  himself 
in  his  blankets,  and  slept  into  the  gray  of  the  morning. 

No  sooner  was  the  first  light  streaking  the  horizon  to 
the  east  than  Andrew  wakened,  and  wakened  in  instant 
possession  of  all  his  faculties;  he  had  gained  a  Napole- 
onic power  to  take  his  sleep  whenever  and  wherever  he 
chose,  and  wake  refreshed  and  ready  for  a  new  start. 
He  could  sleep  as  a  camel  eats.  If  opportunity  offered 
he  could  spend  a  dozen  hours  wrapped  in  oblivion  and 
then  go  forty-eight  hours  freshly  without  a  new  rest. 
Of  all  the  rare  qualities  of  hand  and  eye  and  mind  which 
equipped  Andrew  Lanning  for  his  hard  life,  there  was 
nothing  half  so  valuable  as  this  command  over  sleep. 
The  heartbreaking  ride  from  Los  Toros,  which  would 
have  reduced  another  man  to  a  tangle  of  nerves  and 
weariness,  left  him  as  fresh  as  a  bird.  One  sleep  was 
all  he  needed  to  wipe  his  mind  clean  as  a  slate  of  the 
past. 

He  saddled  Sally  this  morning,  and,  after  a  leisurely 
breakfast,  started  at  a  jog  trot  through  the  hills,  taking 
the  upslope  with  the  utmost  care.  For  nothing  so  ruins 
a  horse  as  hard  work  uphill  at  the  very  beginning  of  the 


BESS  BALDWIN  239 

day.  He  gave  Sally  her  head,  and  she  went  along  in  her 
own  capricious  manner,  walking  at  a  snail's  pace  here, 
trotting  there,  breaking  into  a  gallop  now  and  again  to 
stretch  her  muscles,  and  on  the  whole  behaving  like  some 
irresponsible  boy  turned  loose  for  the  first  time  on  the 
road.  But  by  letting  her  go  as  she  pleased  she  topped 
the  divide,  breathing  as  easily  as  if  she  had  been  walking 
on  the  flat;  she  gave  one  toss  of  her  head  as  she  saw 
the  long,  smooth  slope  ahead  of  her,  breaking  into  a 
tumble  of  rolling  ground  beyond,  and  then,  without  a 
word  from  Andrew  or  a  touch  of  his  heels,  she  gave 
herself  up  to  the  long,  rocking  canter  which  she  could 
maintain  so  tirelessly  for  hour  on  hour. 

A  clear,  cold  morning  came  on;  the  wind,  changing 
from 'south  west  to  north,  whipped  the  sky  clear  in  a  few 
moments;  a  rout  of  clouds  piled  away  in  storage  to  the 
south,  and  the  sun  came  over  the  tips  of  the  eastern 
mountains,  dazzling  bright  and  without  a  particle  of 
warmth.  Indeed,  it  was  rarely  chill  for  the  mountain 
desert,  with  a  feel  of  coming  snow  in  the  wind.  Sally 
pricked  one  ear  as  she  looked  into  the  north,  and  Andrew 
knew  that  that  was  a  sign  of  trouble  coming. 

He  came  in  the  middle  of  the  morning  to  the  house  of 
Garry  Baldwin.  It  was  a  wretched  shack,  the  roof 
sagged  in  the  middle,  and  the  building  had  been  held 
from  literally  falling  apart  by  bolting  an  iron  rod  through 
the  length  of  it. 

A  woman  who  fitted  well  into  such  a  background 
kicked  open  the  door  and  looked  up  to  Andrew  with 
the  dishwater  still  dripping  from  her  red  hands.  He 
asked  for  her  husband.  He  was  gone  from  the  house. 
Where,  she  did  not  know.  Somewhere  yonder,  and  her 
gesture  included  half  the  width  of  the  horizon  to  the 
west.  There  was  his  trail,  if  Andrew  wished  to  follow 


240  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

it.  For  her  part,  she  was  busy  and  could  not  spare  time 
to  gossip.  At  that  she  stepped  back  and  kicked  the  door 
shut  with  a  slam  that  set  the  whole  side  of  the  shack 
shivering. 

At  that  moment  Andrew  wondered  what  he  would 
have  done  those  few  months — those  few  lifetimes — when 
he  lived  in  Martindale  if  he  had  been  treated  in  such  a 
manner.  He  would  have  crimsoned  to  the  eyes,  no 
doubt,  and  fled  from  the  virago.  But  now  he  felt  neither 
embarrassment  nor  fear  nor  anger.  He  drew  his  re- 
volver, and  with  the  heavy  butt  banged  loudly  on  the 
door.  It  left  three  deep  dents  in  the  wood,  and  the  door 
was  kicked  open  again.  But  this  time  he  saw  only  the 
foot  of  the  woman  clad  in  a  man's  boot.  The  door  re- 
mained open,  but  the  hostess  kept  out  of  view. 

"You  be  ridin'  on,  friend,"  she  called  in  her  harsh 
voice.  "Bud,  keep  out'n  the  kitchen.  Stranger,  you  be 
ridin'  on.  I  don't  know  you  and  I  don't  want  to  know 
you.  A  man  that  beats  on  doors  with  his  gun!" 

Andrew  laughed,  and  the  sound  brought  her  into  view, 
a  furious  face,  but  a  curious  face  as  well.  She  carried 
a  long  rifle  slung  easily  under  her  stout  arm.  There 
was  the  strength  of  a  man  in  her  shoulders  and  the  readi- 
ness of  a  man  about  her  hands. 

"What  d'you  want  with  Garry?"  she  asked. 

And  he  replied  with  a  voice  equally  hard:  "I  want 
direction  for  finding  'Scar-faced'  Allister." 

He  watched  that  shot  shake  her. 

"You  do?  You  got  a  hell  of  a  nerve  askin'  around 
here  for  Allister!  Slope,  kid,  slope.  You're  on  a  cold 
trail." 

"Wait  a  minute,"  protested  Andrew.  "You  need  an- 
other look  at  me." 


BESS  BALDWIN  241 

"I  can  see  all  there  is  to  you  the  first  glance,"  said  the 
woman  calmly.  "Why  should  I  look  again?" 

'To  see  the  reward,"  said  Andrew  bitterly.  He 
laughed  again.  "I'm  Andrew  Lanning.  Ever  hear  of 
me?" 

It  was  obvious  that  she  had.  She  blinked  and  winced 
as  though  the  name  stunned  her.  "Lanning!"  she  said. 
"Why,  you  ain't  much  more'n  a  kid.  Lanning!  And 
you're  him?" 

All  at  once  she  melted. 

"Slide  off  your  hoss  and  come  in,  Andy,"  she  said. 
"Dogged  if  I  knew  you  at  all!" 

"Thanks.     I  want  to  find  Allister  and  I'm  in  a  hurry." 

"So  you  and  him  are  goin'  to  team  it?  That'll  be 
high  times !  Come  here,  Bud.  Look  at  Andy  Lanning. 
That's  him  on  the  horse  right  before  you." 

A  scared,  round  face  peered  out  at  Andrew  from  be- 
hind his  mother.  "All  right,  partner.  I'll  tell  you  where 
to  find  him  pretty  close.  He'll  be  up  the  gulch  along 
about  now.  You  know  the  old  shack  up  there?  You 
can  get  to  him  inside  three  hours — with  that  hoss."  She 
stopped  and  eyed  Sally.  "Is  that  the  one  that  run  Gray 
Peter  to  death  ?  She  don't  look  the  part,  but  them  long, 
low  bosses  is  deceivin'.  Can't  you  stay,  Andy?  Well, 
s'long.  And  give  Allister  a  good  word  from  Bess  Bald- 
win. Luck !" 

He  waved,  and  was  gone  at  a  brisk  gallop. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

THE   RULES  OF  THE  GAME 

IT  was  not  yet  noon  when  he  entered  the  gulch.  The 
sun,  though  it  was  almost  directly  at  the  zenith,  gave 
but  a  mild  warmth,  and  all  the  ravine  was  full  of  that 
hushing  sound  which  comes  after  a  heavy  rain,  when 
the  earth  is  drinking  the  water  out  of  a  myriad  little 
pools.  There  was  no  creek  bed  in  the  canon,  but  an 
impromptu  rivulet  was  now  running  down  over  the 
gravel,  winding  foolishly  into  blind  pools  and  cutting  a 
crazy,  ragged  path  down  to  the  mouth  of  the  gulch.  It 
kept  a  faint  tinkling  sound  over  the  murmur  of  the  soak- 
ing water — two  whispers,  one  barely  louder  than  the 
other,  and  both  making  Andrew  merely  feel  the  weight 
of  the  silence. 

He  was  not  halfway  up  the  gulch  when  something 
moved  at  the  top  of  the  high  wall  to  his  right.  He 
guessed  at  once  that  it  was  a  lookout  signaling  the  main 
party  of  the  approach  of  a  stranger,  so  Andrew  stopped 
Sally  with  a  word  and  held  his  hand  high  above  his  head, 
facing  the  point  from  which  he  had  seen  the  movement. 
There  was  a  considerable  pause;  then  a  man  showed  on 
the  top  of  the  cliff,  and  Andrew  recognized  Jeff  Rankin 
by  his  red  hair.  Yet  they  were  at  too  great  a  distance 
for  conversation,  and  after  waving  a  greeting,  Rankin 
merely  beckoned  Andrew  on  his  way  up  the  valley. 
Around  the  very  next  bend  of  the  ravine  he  found  the 
camp.  It  was  of  the  most  impromptu  character,  and  the 
warning  of  Rankin  had  caused  them  to  break  it  up  pre- 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  243 

cipitately,  as  Andrew  could  see  by  one  length  of  tar- 
paulin tossed,  without  folding,  over  a  saddle.  Each  of 
the  four  was  ready,  beside  his  horse,  for  flight  or  for 
attack,  as  their  outlook  on  the  cliff  should  give  signal. 
But  at  sight  of  Andrew  and  the  bay  mare  a  murmur, 
then  a  growl  of  interest  went  among  them.  Even  Larry 
la  Roche  grinned  a  skull-like  welcome,  and  Henry  Allis- 
ter  actually  ran  forward  to  receive  the  newcomer.  An- 
drew dropped  out  of  the  saddle  and  shook  hands  with 
him. 

'I've  done  as  you  said  I  would,"  said  Andrew.  "I've 
run  in  a  circle,  Allister,  and  now  I'm  back  to  make  one 
of  you,  if  you  still  want  me/' 

Allister,  laughing  joyously,  turned  to  the  other  three 
and  repeated  the  question  to  them.  There  was  only  one 
voice  in  answer. 

"Want  you  ?"  said  Allister,  and  his  smile  made  Andrew 
almost  forget  the  scar  which  twisted  the  otherwise  hand- 
some face.  "Want  you?  Why,  man,  if  we've  been  be- 
yond the  law  up  to  this  time,  we  can  laugh  at  the  law 
now.  You're  worth  a  host,  Lanning.  As  soon  as  it's 
known  you're  with  me,  the  bumpkins  will  want  a  hun- 
dred men  before  they  take  our  trails.  Sit  down.  Hey, 
Scottie,  shake  up  the  fire  and  put  on  some  coffee,  will 
you?  We'll  take  an  hour  off." 

Larry  la  Roche  was  observed  to  make  a  dour  face. 

"Who'll  tell  me  it's  lucky,"  he  said,  "to  have  a  gent 
that  starts  out  by  makin'  us  all  stop  on  the  trail?  Is 
that  a  good  sign?" 

But  Scottie,  with  laughter,  hushed  him.  Yet  Larry 
la  Roche  remained  of  all  the  rest  quite  silent  during  the 
making  of  the  coffee  and  the  drinking  of  it.  The  others 
kept  up  a  running  fire  of  comments  and  questions,  but 
Larry  la  Roche,  as  though  he  had  never  forgiven  An- 


244  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

drew  for  their  first  quarrel,  remained  with  his  long,  bony 
chin  dropped  upon  his  breast  and  followed  the  movements 
of  Andrew  Lanning  with  restless  eyes. 

The  others  were  glad  to  see  him,  as  Andrew  could  tell 
at  a  glance,  but  also  they  were  a  bit  troubled,  and  by  de- 
grees he  made  out  the  reason.  Strange  as  it  seemed,  they 
regretted  that  he  had  not  been  able  to  make  his  break 
across  the  mountains.  His  presence  made  them  more 
impregnable  than  they  had  ever  been  under  the  indomi- 
table Allister,  and  yet,  more  than  the  aid  of  his  righting 
hand,  they  would  have  welcomed  the  tidings  of  a  man 
who  had  broken  away  from  the  shadow  of  the  law  and 
"made  good."  It  was  the  first  time  that  Andrew  ob- 
served this  quality  among  the  outlaws;  yet  he  learned 
later  that  even  the  tramps  of  the  cross-continental  road 
do  not  welcome  recruits  to  their  ranks.  Once  a  man  has 
taken  the  long  step  that  places  him  beyond  the  reach  of 
good  society,  he  is  received  with  open  arms,  but  as  long 
as  there  is  a  chance  of  putting  him  back  on  his  feet  again 
there  are  few,  indeed,  that  will  not  contribute  money 
and  cunning  to  that  purpose.  There  is,  of  course,  a 
shade  of  selfishness  in  it.  For  each  of  the  fallen  wishes 
to  feel  that  his  exile  is  self -terminable,  and  the  most  noto- 
rious criminal  will  thrill  to  a  story  of  regeneration. 

And  therefore  Andrew,  telling  his  story  to  them  in 
brief,  found  that  they  were  not  by  any  means  filled  with 
unmixed  pleasure.  Joe  Clune,  with  his  bright  brown 
hair  of  youth  and  his  lined,  haggard  face  of  worn  mid- 
dle age,  summed  up  their  sentiments  at  the  end  of  An- 
drew's story :  "You're  what  we  need  with  us,  Lanning. 
You  and  Allister  will  beat  the  world,  and  it  means  high 
times  for  the  rest  of  us,  but  God  pity  you — that's  all !" 

The  pause  that  followed  this  solemn  speech  was  to 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  245 

Andrew  like  an  amen.  He  glanced  from  face  to  face, 
and  each  stern  eye  met  his  in  gloomy  sympathy. 

Then  something  shot  through  him  which  was  to  his 
mind  what  red  is  to  the  eye;  it  was  a  searing  touch  of 
reckless  indifference,  defiance. 

"Forget  this  prayer-meeting  talk,"  said  Andrew.  "I 
came  up  here  for  action,  not  mourning.  I  want  some- 
thing to  do  with  my  hands,  not  something  to  think  about 
with  my  head !" 

Something  to  think  about!  It  was  like  a  terror  be- 
hind him.  If  he  should  have  long  quiet  it  would  steal 
on  him  and  look  at  him  over  his  shoulder  like  a  face. 
A  little  of  this  showed  in  his  face;  enough  to  make  the 
circle  flash  significant  glances  at  one  another. 

"You  got  something  behind  you,  Andy,"  said  Scottie. 
"Come  out  with  it.  It  ain't  too  bad  for  us  to  hear." 

"There's  something  behind  me,"  said  Andrew.  "It's 
the  one  really  decent  part  of  my  life.  And  I  don't  want 
to  think  about  it.  Allister,  they  say  you  never  let  the 
grass  grow  under  you.  What's  on  your  hands  now?" 

"Somebody  has  been  flattering  me,"  said  the  leader 
quietly,  and  all  the  time  he  kept  studying  the  face  of 
Andrew.  "We  have  a  little  game  ahead,  if  you  want 
to  come  in  on  it.  We're  shorthanded,  but  I'd  try  it  with 
you.  That  makes  us  six  all  told.  Six  enough,  boys?" 

"Count  me  half  of  one,"  said  Larry  la  Roche.  "I 
don't  feel  lucky  about  this  little  party." 

"We'll  count  you  two  times  two,"  replied  the  leader 
calmly,  and  he  began  to  outline  his  plans  to  Andrew. 

It  developed,  before  he  had  been  talking  for  five  min- 
utes, that  the  plans  were  as  extraordinary  as  the  man 
himself.  He  treated  crime  as  any  progressive  business 
man  treats  his  business.  He  looked  upon  himself  and 
his  small  band  as  a  great  capital  investment,  on  which 


246  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

the  money  they  secured  was  the  interest.  And  accord- 
ingly he  seldom  risked  the  band  in  action. 

"Tempt  Providence  once  too  much  and  the  best-laid 
plan  in  the  world  will  break  down,"  he  said,  "as  long  as 
the  other  side  has  the  same  caliber  guns  we  have.  Who 
is  the  winning  gambler?  Jeff  Rankin,  who  plunges 
every  time  he  sees  a  three  of  a  kind,  or  Larry  there,  who 
plunges  once  in  an  evening  for  everything  he  has?  He 
makes  more  in  that  plunge  than  Jeff  Rankin  makes  in  a 
month's  play.  It's  the  same  with  this  business  of  mine, 
Lanning.  I  show  my  hand  once  in  every  six  or  eight 
months,  but  when  I  strike  I  strike  hard  and  I  strike  for 
big  stakes." 

He  added:  "You  boys  play  a  game;  I'm  going  to 
break  in  Lanning  to  our  job." 

Taking  his  horse,  he  and  Andrew  rode  at  a  walk  up 
the  ravine.  On  the  way  the  leader  explained  his  sys- 
tem briefly  and  clearly.  Told  in  short,  he  worked  some- 
what as  follows:  Instead  of  raiding  blindly  right  and 
left,  he  only  moved  when  he  had  planned  every  inch  of 
ground  for  the  advance  and  the  blow  and  the  retreat. 
To  make  sure  of  success  and  the  size  of  his  stakes  he  was 
willing  to  invest  heavily. 

"Big  business  men  sink  half  a  year's  income  in  their 
advertising.  I  do  the  same." 

It  was  not  public  advertising;  it  was  money  cunningly 
expended  where  it  would  do  most  good.  Fifty  per  cent 
of  the  money  the  gang  earned  was  laid  away  to  make 
future  returns  surer.  In  twenty  places  Allister  had  his 
paid  men  who,  working  from  behind  the  scenes,  gained 
priceless  information  and  sent  word  of  it  to  the  outlaw. 
Trusted  officials  in  great  companies  were  in  communica- 
tion with  him.  When  large  shipments  of  gold  were  to 
be  made,  for  instance,  he  was  often  warned  beforehand. 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  247 

Every  dollar  of  the  consignment  was  known  to  him,  the 
date  of  its  shipment,  its  route,  and  the  hands  to  which 
it  was  supposed  to  fall.  Or,  again,  in  many  a  bank  and 
prosperous  mercantile  firm  in  the  mountain  desert  he 
had  inserted  his  paid  spies,  who  let  him  know  when  the 
safe  was  crammed  with  cash  and  when  the  way  would 
be  fairly  open  and  by  what  means  the  treasure  was 
guarded. 

Not  until  he  had  secured  such  information  did  the 
leader  move.  And  he  still  delayed  until  every  possible 
point  of  friction  had  been  noted,  every  danger  considered, 
and  a  check  appointed  for  it,  every  method  of  advance 
and  retreat  gone  over. 

"A  good  general,"  Allister  was  fond  of  saying,  "plans 
in  two  ways:  for  an  absolute  victory  and  for  an  abso- 
lute defeat.  The  one  enables  him  to  squeeze  the  last 
ounce  of  success  out  of  a  triumph;  the  other  keeps  a 
failure  from  turning  into  a  catastrophe." 

With  everything  arranged  for  the  stroke,  he  usually 
posted  himself  with  the  band  as  far  as  possible  from  the 
place  where  the  actual  work  was  to  be  done.  Then  he 
made  a  feint  in  the  opposite  direction — he  showed  him- 
self or  a  part  of  his  gang  recklessly.  The  moment  the 
alarm  was  given — even  at  the  risk  of  having  an  entire 
hostile  countryside  around  him — he  started  a  whirlwind 
course  in  the  opposite  direction  from  which  he  was  gen- 
erally supposed  to  be  traveling.  If  possible,  at  the 
ranches  of  adherents,  or  at  out-of-the-way  places  where 
confederates  could  act,  he  secured  fresh  horses  and 
dashed  on  at  full  speed  all  the  way. 

Then,  at  the  very  verge  of  the  place  for  attack,  he 
gathered  his  men,  rehearsed  in  detail  what  each  man  was 
to  do,  delivered  the  blow,  secured  the  spoils,  and  each 
man  of  the  party  split  away  from  the  others  and  fled  in 


248  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

scattering  directions,  to  assemble  again  at  a  distant  point 
on  a  comparatively  distant  date.  There  they  sat  down 
around  a  council  table,  and  there  they  divided  the  spoils. 
No  matter  how  many  were  employed,  no  matter  how 
vast  a  proportion  of  the  danger  and  scheming  had  been 
borne  by  the  leader,  he  took  no  more  than  two  shares. 
Then  fifty  per  cent  of  the  prize  was  set  aside.  The  rest 
was  divided  with  an  exact  care  among  the  remaining 
members  of  the  gang.  The  people  who  had  supplied  the 
requisite  information  for  the  coup  were  always  given 
their  share.  If  anything  happened  to  them,  if  their  de- 
ceit was  discovered,  their  heirs  received  every  scruple  of 
the  money.  More  than  that,  excellent  sources  of  infor- 
mation were  kept  "fattened"  with  bribes  even  when  they 
were  turning  in  no  useful  news.  One  man  had  only 
sent  in  two  short  bits  of  advice  in  three  years,  but  each 
of  those  notes  had  meant  many  thousands  of  dollars. 

From  this  general  talk  Allister  descended  to  particu- 
lars. He  talked  of  the  gang  itself.  They  were  quite  a 
fixed  quantity.  In  the  last  half  dozen  years  there  had 
not  been  three  casualties.  For  one  thing,  he  chose  his 
men  with  infinite  care;  in  the  second  place,  he  saw  to  it 
that  they  remained  in  harmony,  and  to  that  end  he  was 
careful  never  to  be  tempted  into  forming  an  unwieldy 
crew,  no  matter  how  large  the  prize.  Of  the  present 
organization  each  was  an  expert.  Larry  la  Roche  had 
been  a  counterfeiter  and  was  a  consummate  penman. 
His  forgeries  were  works  of  art.  "Have  you  noticed 
his  hands?" 

"Scottie"  Macdaugal  was  an  eminent  advance  agent, 
whose  smooth  tongue  was  the  thing  for  the  very  dan- 
gerous and  extremely  important  work  of  trying  out  new 
sources  of  information,  noting  the  dependability  of  those 
sources,  and  understanding  just  how  far  and  in  what  line 


THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME  249 

the  tools  could  be  used.  Joe  Clune  was  a  past  expert  in 
the  blowing  of  safes;  not  only  did  he  know  everything 
that  was  to  be  known  about  means  of  guarding  money 
and  how  to  circumvent  them,  but  he  was  an  artist  with 
the  "soup,"  as  Allister  called  nitroglycerin. 

Jeff  Rankin,  without  a  mental  equipment  to  compare 
with  his  companions,  was  often  invaluable  on  account  of 
his  prodigious  strength.  Under  the  strain  of  his  mus- 
cles iron  bars  bent  like  hot  wax.  In  addition  he  had 
more  than  his  share  of  an  ability  which  all  the  members 
of  the  gang  possessed — an  infinite  cunning  in  the  use  of 
weapons  and  a  star-storming  courage  and  self-confidence. 

"And  where,"  said  Andrew  at  the  end  of  this  long 
recital,  "do  I  fit  in?" 

"You  begin,"  said  Allister,  "as  the  least  valuable  of 
my  men ;  before  six  months  you  will  be  worth  the  whole 
set  of  'em.  You'll  start  as  my  lieutenant,  Lanning. 
The  boys  expect  it.  You've  built  up  a  reputation  that 
counts.  They  admit  your  superiority  without  question. 
Larry  la  Roche  squirms  under  the  weight  of  it,  but  he 
admits  it  like  the  rest  of  'em.  In  a  pinch  they  would 
obey  you  nearly  as  well  as  they  obey  me.  It  means 
that,  having  you  to  take  charge,  I  can  do  what  I've  al- 
ways wanted  to  do — I  can  give  the  main  body  the  slip 
and  go  off  for  advance-guard  and  rear-guard  duty.  I 
don't  dare  to  do  it  now. 

"Do  you  know  why?  Those  fellows  yonder,  who 
seem  so  chummy,  would  be  at  each  other's  throats  in 
ten  seconds  if  I  weren't  around  to  keep  them  in  order. 
I  know  why  you're  here,  Lanning.  It  isn't  the  money. 
It's  the  cursed  fear  of  loneliness  and  the  fear  of  having 
time  to  think.  You  want  action,  action  to  fill  your  mind 
and  blind  you.  That's  what  I  offer  you.  You're  the 
keeper  of  the  four  wild  cats  you  see  over  there.  You 


250  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

start  in  with  their  respect.  Let  them  lose  their  fear  of 
you  for  a  moment  and  they'll  go  for  you.  Treat  them 
like  men;  think  of  them  as  wild  beasts.  That's  what 
they  are.  The  minute  they  know  you're  without  your 
whip  they  go  for  you  like  tigers  at  a  wounded  trainer. 
One  taste  of  meat  is  all  they  need  to  madden  them.  It's 
different  with  me.  I'm  wild,  too." 

His  eyes  gleamed  at  Andrew. 

"And,  if  they  raise  you,  I  think  they'll  find  you've 
more  iron  hidden  away  in  you  than  I  have.  But  the 
way  they'll  find  it  out  will  be  in  an  explosion  that  will 
wipe  them  out.  You've  got  to  handle  them  without  that 
explosion,  Lanning.  Can  you  do  it?" 

The  younger  man  moistened  his  lips.  "I  think  this 
job  is  going  to  prove  worth  while,"  he  returned. 

"Very  well,  then.  But  there  are  penalties  in  your  new 
position.  In  a  pinch  you've  got  to  do  what  I  do — see 
that  they  have  food  enough — go  without  sleep  if  one  of 
them  needs  your  blankets — if  any  of  'em  gets  in  trou- 
ble, even  into  a  jail,  you've  got  to  get  him  out." 

"Better  still,"  smiled  Andrew. 

"And  now,"  said  the  leader,  "I'll  tell  you  about  our 
next  job  as  we  go  back  to  the  boys." 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THE    HOLDUP 

IT  was  ten  days  later  when  the  band  dropped  out  of  the 
mountains  into  the  Murchison  Pass — a  singular  place 
for  a  train  robbery,  Andrew  could  not  help  thinking. 
They  were  at  the  southwestern  end  of  the  pass,  where 
the  mountains  gave  back  in  a  broad  gap.  Below  them, 
not  five  miles  away,  was  the  city  of  Gidding  Creek ;  they 
could  see  its  buildings  and  parks  tumbled  over  a  big  area, 
for  there  was  a  full  twenty-five  thousand  of  inhabitants 
in  Gidding  Creek.  Indeed,  the  whole  country  was  dot- 
ted with  villages  and  towns,  for  it  was  no  longer  a  cattle 
region,  but  a  semi  farming  district  cut  up  into  small  tracts. 
One  was  almost  never  out  of  sight  of  at  least  one  house. 
It  worried  Andrew,  this  closely  built  country,  and  he 
knew  that  it  worried  the  other  men  as  well;  yet  there 
had  not  been  a  single  murmur  from  among  them  as  they 
jogged  their  horses  on  behind  Allister.  Each  of  them 
was  swathed  from  head  to  heels  in  a  vast  slicker  that 
spread  behind,  when  the  wind  caught  it,  as  far  as  the  tail 
of  the  horse.  And  the  rubber  creaked  and  rustled  softly. 
Whatever  they  might  have  been  inclined  to  think  of  this 
daring  raid  into  the  heart  of  a  comparatively  thickly 
populated  country,  they  were  too  accustomed  to  let  the 
leader  do  their  thinking  for  them  to  argue  the  point  with 
him.  And  Andrew  followed  blindly  enough.  He  saw, 
indSed,  one  strong  point  in  their  favor.  The  very  fact 
that  the  train  was  coming  out  of  the  heart  of  the  moun- 
tains, through  ravines  which  afforded  a  thousand  places 


252  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

for  assault,  would  make  the  guards  relax  their  attention 
as  they  approached  Gidding  Creek.  And,  though  there 
were  many  people  in  the  region,  they  were  a  fat  and 
inactive  populace,  not  comparable  with  the  lean  fellows 
of  the  north. 

There  was  bitter  work  behind  them.  Ten  days  be- 
fore they  had  made  a  feint  to  the  north  of  Martindale 
that  was  certain  to  bring  out  Hal  Dozier ;  then  they  dou- 
bled about  and  had  plodded  steadily  south,  choosing 
always  the  most  desolate  ground  for  their  travel.  There 
had  been  two  changes  of  horses  for  the  others,  but  An- 
drew kept  to  Sally.  To  her  that  journey  was  play  after 
the  labor  she  had  passed  through  before;  the  iron  dust 
of  danger  and  labor  was  in  her  even  as  it  was  in  Andrew. 
Three  in  all  that  party  were  fresh  at  the  end  of  the  long 
trail.  They  were  Allister,  Sally,  and  Andrew.  The 
others  were  poisoned  with  weariness,  and  their  tempers 
were  on  edge;  they  kept  an  ugly  silence,  and  if  one  of 
them  happened  to  jostle  the  horse  of  the  other,  there  was 
a  flash  of  teeth  and  eyes — a  silent  warning.  The  sixth 
man  was  Scottie,  who  had  long  since  been  detached  from 
the  party.  His  task  was  one  which,  if  he  failed  in  it, 
would  make  all  that  long  ride  go  for  nothing.  He  was 
to  take  the  train  far  up,  ride  down  as  "blind  baggage"  to 
the  Murchison  Pass,  and  then  climb  over  the  tender  into 
the  cab,  "stick  up"  the  fireman  and  the  engineer,  and 
make  them  bring  the  engine  to  a  halt  at  the  mouth  of  the 
pass,  with  Gidding  Creek  and  safety  for  all  that  train 
only  five  minutes  away.  There  was  a  touch  of  the 
satanic  in  this  that  pleased  Andrew  and  made  Allister 
show  his  teeth  in  self -appreciation. 

So  perfectly  had  their  journey  been  timed  that  the 
train  was  due  in  a  very  few  minutes.  They  disposed 
their  horses  in  the  thicket,  and  then  went  back  to  take  up 


THE  HOLDUP  253 

their  position  in  the  ambush.  The  plan  of  work  was 
carefully  divided.  To  Jeff  Rankin,  that  nicely  accurate 
shot  and  bulldog  fighter,  fell  what  seemed  to  be  a  full 
half  of  the  total  risk  and  labor.  He  was  to  go  to  the 
"blind"  side  of  the  job.  In  other  words,  he  was  to 
guard  the  opposite  side  of  the  train  to  that  on  which  the 
main  body  advanced.  It  was  always  possible  that  when 
a  train  was  held  up  the  passengers — at  least  the  unarmed 
portion,  and  perhaps  even  some  of  the  armed  men- 
would  break  away  on  the  least  threatened  side.  Jeff 
Rankin  on  that  blind  side  was  to  turn  them  back  with  a 
hurricane  of  bullets  from  his  magazine  rifle.  Firing 
from  ambush  and  moving  from  place  to  place,  he  would 
seem  more  than  one  man.  Probably  three  or  four  shots 
would  turn  back  the  mob.  In  the  meantime,  having 
made  the  engineer  and  fireman  stop  the  train,  Scottie 
would  be  making  them  continue  to  flood  the  fire  box. 
This  would  delay  the  start  of  the  engine  on  its  way  and 
gain  precious  moments  for  the  fugitives.  Two  of  the 
band  would  be  thus  employed  while  Larry  la  Roche  went 
through  the  train  and  "turned  out"  the  passengers. 
There  was  no  one  like  Larry  for  facing  a  crowd  and 
cowing  it.  His  spectral  form,  his  eyes  burning  through 
the  holes  in  his  mask,  stripped  them  of  any  idea  of  re- 
sistance. And  to  aid  him  there  was  always  the  impres- 
sion that  this  one  robber  was  only  a  prelude  to  the  scores 
surrounding  the  train  on  the  outside.  Even  if  he  were 
shot  down  there  would  be  no  hope ;  it  might  simply  bring 
on  a  general  massacre. 

While  the  crowd  turned  out,  Andrew,  standing  oppo- 
site the  middle  of  the  train,  rifle  in  hand,  would  line  them 
up,  while  Allister  and  Joe  Clune  attended  to  overpower- 
ing the  guards  of  the  safe,  and  Larry  la  Roche  came  out 
and  "went  through"  the  line  of  passengers  for  personal 


254  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

valuables,  and  Clune  and  Allister  fixed  the  "soup"  to 
blow  the  safe.  Last  of  all,  there  was  the  explosion,  the 
carrying  off  of  the  coin  in  its  canvas  sacks  to  the  horses. 
Each  man  was  to  turn  his  horse  in  a  direction  carefully 
specified,  and,  riding  in  a  roundabout  manner,  which  was 
also  named,  he  was  to  keep  on  until  he  came,  five  days 
later,  to  a  deserted,  ruinous  shack  far  up  in  the  mountains 
on  the  side  of  the  Twin  Eagles  peaks. 

These  were  the  instructions  which  Allister  went  over 
carefully  with  each  member  of  his  crew  before  they  went 
to  their  posts.  There  had  been  twenty  rehearsals  be- 
fore, and  each  man  was  letter  perfect.  They  took  their 
posts,  and  Allister  came  to  the  side  of  Andrew  among 
the  trees. 

"How  are  you  ?"  he  asked. 

"Scared  to  death,"  said  Andrew  truthfully.  "I'd  give 
a  thousand  dollars,  if  I  had  it,  to  be  free  of  this  job." 

Andrew  saw  that  hard  glint  come  in  the  eyes  of  the 
leader. 

"You'll  do— later,"  nodded  Allister.  "But  keep  back 
from  the  crowd.  Don't  let  them  see  you  get  nervous 
when  they  turn  out  of  the  coaches.  If  you  show  a  sign 
of  wavering  they  might  start  something.  Of  course,  if 
they  did,  I  know  that  you'd  come  through  in  great  style 
in  the  fight,  but  the  thing  to  do  with  a  crowd  is  to  keep 
'em  from  ever  starting  to  fight.  Once  they  make  a  surge, 
shooting  won't  stop  'em." 

Andrew  nodded.  There  was  more  practical  advice  on 
the  heels  of  this.  Then  they  stood  quietly  and  waited. 

For  days  and  days  a  northeaster  had  been  blowing;  it 
had  whipped  little  drifts  of  rain  and  mist  that  stung  the 
face  and  sent  a  chill  to  the  bone,  and,  though  there  had 
been  no  actual  downpour,  the  cold  and  the  wet  had  never 
broken  since  the  journey  started.  Now  the  wind  came 


THE  HOLDUP  255 

like  a  wolf  down  the  Murchison  Pass,  howling  and  moan- 
ing. Andrew,  closing  his  eyes,  felt  that  the  whole  thing 
was  dreamlike.  Presently  he  would  open  his  eyes  and 
find  himself  back  beside  the  fire  in  the  house  of  Uncle 
Jasper,  with  the  old  man  prodding  his  shoulder  and  tell- 
ing him  that  it  was  bedtime.  When  he  opened  his  eyes, 
in  fact,  they  fell  upon  a  solitary  pine  high  up  on  the 
opposite  slope,  above  the  thicket  where  Jeff  Rankin  was 
hiding.  It  was  a  sickly  tree,  half  naked  of  branches, 
and  it  shivered  like  a  wretched  animal  in  the  wind.  Then 
a  new  sound  came  down  the  pass,  wolf  like,  indeed;  it  was 
repeated  more  clearly — the  whistle  of  a  train. 

It  was  the  signal  arranged  among  them  for  putting 
on  the  masks,  and  Andrew  hastily  adjusted  his. 

"Did  you  hear  that?"  asked  Allister  as  the  train  hooted 
in  the  distance  again. 

Andrew  turned  and  started  at  the  ghostly  thing  which 
had  been  the  face  of  the  outlaw  a  moment  before;  he 
himself  must  look  like  that,  he  knew. 

"What?"  he  asked. 

"That  voicelike  whistle,"  said  Allister.  'There's  no 
luck  in  this  day — for  me." 

"You've  listened  to  Larry  la  Roche  too  much/'  said 
Andrew.  "He's  been  growling  ever  since  we  started  on 
this  trail." 

"No,  no!"  returned  Allister.  "It's  another  thing,  an 
older  thing  than  Larry  la  Roche.  My  mother " 

He  stopped.  Whatever  it  was  that  he  was  about  to 
say,  Andrew  was  never  to  hear  it.  The  train  had  turned 
the  long  bend  above,  and  now  the  roar  of  its  wheels 
filled  the  canon  and  covered  the  sound  of  the  wind. 

It  looked  vast  as  a  mountain  as  it  came,  rocking  per- 
ceptibly on  the  uneven  roadbed.  It  rounded  the  curve^ 
the  tail  of  the  train  flicked  around,  and  it  shot  at  full 


256  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

speed  straight  for  the  mouth  of  the  pass.  How  could 
one  man  stop  it?  How  could  five  men  attack  it  after  it 
was  stopped?  It  was  like  trying  to  storm  a  medieval 
fortress  with  a  popgun. 

The  great  black  front  of  the  engine  came  rocking  to- 
ward them,  gathering  impetus  on  the  sharp  grade.  Had 
Scottie  missed  his  trick?  But  when  the  thunder  of  the 
iron  on  iron  was  deafening  Andrew,  and  the  engine 
seemed  almost  upon  them,  there  was  a  cloud  of  white 
vapor  that  burst  out  on  either  side  of  it  and  a  great  whis- 
tling and  breathing  sound,  as  of  an  animal  giving  up 
life  in  an  agony.  The  brakes  were  jumped  on ;  the  \vheels 
skidded,  screaming  on  the  tracks.  The  engine  lurched 
past;  Andrew  caught  a  glimpse  of  Scottie,  a  crouched, 
masked  form  in  the  cab  of  the  engine,  with  a  gun  in  either 
hand.  For  Scottie  was  one  of  the  few  natural  two-gun 
men  that  Andrew  was  ever  to  know.  The  engineer  and 
the  fireman  he  saw  only  as  two  shades  before  they  were 
whisked  out  of  his  view.  The  train  rumbled  on;  then 
it  went  from  half  speed  to  a  stop  with  one  jerk  that 
brought  a  cry  from  the  coaches.  During  the  next  sec- 
ond there  was  the  successive  crashing  of  couplings  as 
the  coaches  took  up  their  slack. 

Andrew,  stepping  out  with  his  rifle  balanced  in  his 
hands,  saw  Larry  la  Roche  whip  into  the  rear  car.  Then 
he  himself  swept  the  windows  of  the  train,  blurred  by 
the  mist,  with  the  muzzle  of  his  gun,  keeping  the  butt 
close  to  his  shoulder,  ready  for  a  swift  snapshot  in  any 
direction.  In  fact,  his  was  that  very  important  post,  the 
reserve  force,  which  was  to  come  instantly  to  the  aid  of 
any  overpowered  section  of  the  active  workers.  He 
had  rebelled  against  this  minor  task,  but  Allister  had 
assured  him  that,  in  former  times,  it  was  the  place  which 
he  took  himself  to  meet  crises  in  the  attack. 


THE  HOLDUP  257 

The  leader  had  gone  with  Joe  Clune  straight  for  the 
front  car.  How  would  they  storm  it?  Two  guards, 
armed  to  the  teeth,  would  be  in  it,  and  the  door  was 
closed. 

But  the  guards  had  no  intention  to  remain  like  rats  in 
a  trap,  while  the  rest  of  the  train  was  overpowered  and 
they  themselves  were  blasted  into  small  bits  with  a  small 
charge  of  "soup."  The  door  jerked  open,  the  barrels 
of  two  guns  protruded.  Andrew,  thrilling  with  horror, 
recognized  one  as  a  sawed-off  shotgun.  He  saw  now 
the  meaning  of  the  manner  in  which  Allister  and  Clune 
made  their  attack.  For  Allister  had  run  slowly  straight 
for  the  door,  while  Clune  skirted  in  close  to  the  cars,  go- 
ing more  swiftly.  As  the  gun  barrels  went  up  Allister 
plunged  headlong  to  the  ground,  and  the  volley  of  shot 
missed  him  cleanly;  but  Clune  the  next  moment  leaped 
out  from  the  side  of  the  car,  and,  thereby  getting  himself 
to  an  angle  from  which  he  could  deliver  a  cross  fire, 
pumped  two  bullets  through  the  door.  Andrew  saw  a 
figure  throw  up  its  arms,  a  shadow  form  in  the  interior 
of  the  car,  and  then  a  man  pitched  out  headlong  through 
the  doorway  and  flopped  with  horrible  limpness  on  the 
roadbed.  While  this  went  on  Allister  had  snapped  a 
shot,  while  he  still  lay  prone,  and  his  single  bullet  brought 
a  scream.  The  guards  were  done  for. 

Two  deaths,  Andrew  supposed.  But  presently  a  man 
was  sent  out  of  the  car  at  the  point  of  Clune's  revolver. 
He  climbed  down  with  difficulty,  clutching  one  hand 
with  the  other.  He  had  been  shot  in  the  most  painful 
place  in  the  body — the  palm  of  the  hand.  Allister  turned 
over  the  other  form  with  a  brutal  carelessness  that  sick- 
ened Andrew.  But  the  man  had  been  only  stunned  by 
a  bullet  that  plowed  its  way  across  the  top  of  his  skull. 
He  sat  up  now  with  a  trickle  running  down  his  face.  A 


258  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

gesture  from  Andrew's  rifle  made  him  and  his  compan- 
ion realize  that  they  were  covered,  and,  without  attempt- 
ing any  further  resistance,  they  sat  side  by  side  on  the 
ground  and  tended  to  each  other's  wounds — a  ludicrous 
group  for  all  their  suffering. 

In  the  meantime,  Clune  and  Allister  were  at  work  in 
the  car;  the  water  was  hissing  in  the  fire  box  as  a  vast 
cloud  of  steam  came  rushing  out  around  the  engine;  the 
passengers  were  pouring  out  of  the  cars.  They  acted 
like  a  group  of  actors,  carefully  rehearsed  for  the  piece. 
Not  once  did  Andrew  have  to  speak  to  them,  while  they 
ranged  in  a  solid  line,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  men,  women, 
children.  And  then  Larry  la  Roche  went  down  the  line 
with  a  saddlebag  and  took  up  the  collection. 

"Passin'  the  hat  so  often  has  give  me  a  religious  touch, 
ladies  and  gents,"  Andrew  heard  the  ruffian  say.  "Any 
little  contributions  I'm  sure  grateful  for,  and,  if  any- 
thing's  held  back,  I'm  apt  to  frisk  the  gent  that  don't 
fork  over.  Hey,  you,  what's  that  lump  inside  your  coat  ? 
Lady,  don't  lie.  I  seen  you  drop  it  inside  your  dress. 
Why,  it's  a  nice  little  set  o'  sparklers.  That  ain't  nothiir 
to  be  ashamed  of.  Come  on,  please;  a  little  more  speed. 
Easy  there,  partner ;  don't  take  both  them  hands  down  at 
once.  You  can  peel  the  stuff  out  of  your  pockets  with 
one  hand,  I  figure.  Conductor,  just  lemme  see  your 
wallet  Thanks !  Hate  to  bother  you,  ma'am,  but  you 
sure  ain't  traveling  on  this  train  with  only  eighty-five 
cents  in  your  pocketbook.  Just  lemme  have  a  look  at  the 
rest.  See  if  you  can't  find  it  in  your  stocking.  No,  they 
ain't  anything  here  to  make  you  blush.  You're  among 
friends,  lady;  a  plumb  friendly  crowd.  Your  poor  old 
pa  give  you  this  to  go  to  school  on,  did  he?  Son,  you're 
gettin'  a  pile  more  education  out  of  this  than  you  would 
in  college.  No,  honey,  you  just  keep  your  locket.  It 


THE  HOLDUP  259 

ain't  worth  five  dollars.  Did  you?  That  jeweler  ought 
to  have  my  job,  'cause  he  sure  robbed  you!  You  call 
that  watch  an  heirloom?  Heirloom  is  my  middle  name, 
miss.  Just  get  them  danglers  out'n  your  ears,  lady. 
Thanks!  Don't  hurry,  mister;  you'll  bust  the  chain." 

His  monologue  was  endless;  he  had  a  comment  for 
every  person  in  the  line,  and  he  seemed  to  have  a  seventh 
sense  for  concealed  articles.  The  saddlebag  was  bulging 
before  he  was  through.  At  the  same  time  Allister  and 
Clune  jumped  from  the  car  and  ran.  Larry  la  Roche 
gave  the  warning.  Every  one  crouched  or  lay  down. 
The  "soup"  exploded.  The  top  of  the  car  lifted.  It 
made  Andrew  think,  foolishly  enough,  of  some  one  tip- 
ping a  hat.  It  fell  slowly,  with  a  crash  that  was  like  a 
faint  echo  of  the  explosion.  Clune  ran  back,  and  they 
could  hear  his  shrill  yell  of  delight:  "It  ain't  a  safe!" 
he  exclaimed.  "It's  a  baby  mint !" 

And  "a  baby  mint"  it  was!  It  was  a  gold  shipment. 
Gold  coin  runs  about  ninety  pounds  to  ten  thousand  dol- 
lars, and  there  was  close  to  a  hundred  pounds  apiece  for 
each  of  the  bandits.  It  was  the  largest  haul  Allister's 
gang  had  ever  made.  Larry  la  Roche  left  the  pilfering 
of  the  passengers  and  went  to  help  carry  the  loot.  They 
brought  it  out  in  little,  loose  canvas  bags  and  went  on  the 
run  with  it  to  the  horses. 

Some  one  was  speaking.  It  was  the  gray-headed  man 
with  the  glasses  and  the  kindly  look  about  the  eyes. 
"Boys,  it's  the  worst  little  game  you've  ever  worked.  I 
promise  you  we'll  keep  on  your  trail  until  we've  run  yon 
all  into  the  ground.  That's  really  something  to  remem- 
ber. I  speak  for  Gregg  &  Sons." 

"Partner,"  said  Scottie  Macdougal  from  the  cab,  where 
he  still  kept  the  engineer  and  fireman  covered,  "a  little 
hunt  is  like  an  after-dinner  drink  to  me." 


260  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

To  the  utter  amazement  of  Andrew  the  whole  crowd 
— the  crowd  which  had  just  been  carefully  and  systemati- 
cally robbed — burst  into  laughter.  But  this  was  the  end. 
There  was  Allister's  whistle;  Jeff  Rankin  ran  around 
from  the  other  side  of  the  train ;  the  gang  faded  instantly 
into  the  thicket.  Andrew,  as  the  rear  guard — his  most 
ticklish  moment — backed  slowly  toward  the  trees.  Once 
there  was  a  waver  in  the  line,  such  as  precedes  a  rush. 
He  stopped  short,  and  a  single  twitch  of  his  rifle  froze 
the  waverers  in  their  tracks. 

Once  inside  the  thicket  a  yell  came  from  the  crowd, 
but  Andrew  had  whirled  and  was  running  at  full  speed. 
He  could  hear  the  others  crashing  away.  Sally,  as  he 
had  taught  her,  broke  into  a  trot  as  he  approached,  and 
the  moment  he  struck  the  saddle  she  was  in  full  gallop. 
Guns  were  rattling  behind  him ;  random  shots  cut  the  air 
sometimes  close  to  him,  but  not  one  of  the  whole  crowd 
dared  venture  beyond  that  unknown  screen  of  trees. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

ALLISTER'S  SUCCESSOR 

TO  Andrew  the  last  danger  of  the  holdup  had  been 
assigned  as  the  rear  guard,  and  he  was  the  last  man 
to  pass  Allister.  The  leader  had  drawn  his  horse  to  one 
side  a  couple  of  miles  down  the  valley,  and,  as  each  of  his 
band  passed  him,  he  raised  his  hand  in  silent  greeting.  It 
was  the  last  Andrew  saw  of  him,  a  ghostly  figure  sitting 
his  horse  with  his  hand  above  his  head.  After  that  his 
mind  was  busied  by  his  ride,  for,  having  the  finest  mount 
in  the  crowd,  to  him  had  been  assigned  the  longest  and 
the  most  roundabout  route  to  reach  the  Twin  Eagles. 

Yet  he  covered  so  much  ground  with  Sally  that,  in- 
stead of  needing  the  full  five  days  to  make  the  rendez- 
vous, he  could  afford  to  loaf  the  last  stage  of  the  jour- 
ney. Even  at  that,  he  camped  in  sight  of  the  cabin  on 
the  fourth  night,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  fifth  he  was 
the  first  man  at  the  shack. 

Jeff  Rankin  came  in  next.  To  Jeff,  on  account  of  his 
unwieldy  bulk,  had  been  assigned  the  shortest  route;  yet 
even  so  he  dismounted,  staggering  and  limping  from  his 
horse,  and  collapsed  on  the  pile  of  boughs  which  Andrew 
had  spent  the  morning  cutting  for  a  bed.  As  he  dropped 
he  tossed  his  bag  of  coins  to  the  floor.  It  fell  with  a 
melodious  jingling  that  was  immediately  drowned  by 
Jeff's  groans ;  the  saddle  was  torture  to  him,  and  now  he 
was  aching  in  every  joint  of  his  enormous  body.  "A 
nice  haul — nothin'  to  kick  about,"  was  Jeff's  opinion. 


262  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

"But  Caesar's  ghost— what  a  ride !     The  chief  makes  this 
thing  too  hard  on  a  gent  that  likes  to  go  easy,  Andy." 

Andrew  said  nothing;  silence  had  been  his  cue  ever 
since  he  began  acting  as  lieutenant  to  the  chief.  It  had 
seemed  to  baffle  the  others;  it  baffled  the  big  man  now. 
Later  on  Joe  Clune  and  Scottie  came  in  together.  That 
was  about  noon — they  had  met  each  other  an  hour  be- 
fore. But  Allister  had  not  come  in,  although  he  was 
usually  the  first  at  a  rendezvous.  Neither  did  Larry  la 
Roche  come.  The  day  wore  on ;  the  silence  grew  on  the 
group.  When  Andrew,  proportioning  the  work  for  sup- 
per, sent  Joe  to  get  wood,  Jeff  for  water,  and  began  him- 
self to  work  with  Scottie  on  the  cooking,  he  was  met  with 
ugly  looks  and  hesitation  before  they  obeyed.  Some- 
thing, he  felt  most  decidedly,  was  in  the  air.  And  when 
Joe  and  Rankin  came  back  slowly,  walking  side  by  side 
and  talking  in  soft  voices,  his  suspicions  were  given  an 
edge. 

They  wanted  to  eat  together ;  but  he  forced  Scottie  to 
take  post  on  the  high  hill  to  their  right  to  keep  lookout, 
and  for  this  he  received  another  scowl.  Then,  when  sup- 
per was  half  over,  Larry  la  Roche  came  in  to  camp. 
News  came  with  him,  an  atmosphere  of  tidings  around 
his  gloomy  figure,  but  he  cast  himself  down  by  the  fire 
and  ate  and  drank  in  silence,  until  his  hunger  was  gone. 
Then  he  tossed  his  tin  dishes  away  and  they  fell  clatter- 
ing on  the  rocks. 

"Pick  'em  up,"  said  Andrew  quietly.  "We'll  have  no 
litter  around  this  camp."  Larry  la  Roche  stared  at  him 
in  hushed  malevolence.  "Stand  up  and  get  'em,"  re- 
peated Andrew.  As  he  saw  the  big  hands  of  Larry 
twitching  he  smiled  across  the  fire  at  the  tall,  bony  figure. 
"I'll  give  you  two  seconds  to  get  'em,"  he  said. 

One  deadly  second  pulsed  away,  then  Larry  crumpled. 


ALLISTER'S  SUCCESSOR  263 

He  caught  up  his  tin  cup  and  the  plate.     "We'll  talk  later 
about  you,"  he  said  ominously. 

"We'll  talk  about  something  else  first,"  said  Andrew. 
"You've  seen  Allister?" 

At  first  it  seemed  that  La  Roche  would  not  speak ;  then 
his  wide,  thin  lips  writhed  back  from  his  teeth.  "Yes." 

"Where  is  he?" 

"Gone  to  the  happy  hunting  grounds." 

The  silence  came  and  the  pulse  in  it.  One  by  one,  by 
a  natural  instinct,  the  men  looked  about  them  sharply  into 
the  night  and  made  sure  of  their  weapons.  It  was  the 
only  tribute  to  the  memory  of  Allister  from  his  men,  but 
tears  and  praise  could  not  have  been  more  eloquent.  He 
had  made  these  men  fearless  of  the  whole  world.  Now 
were  they  ready  to  jump  at  the  passage  of  .a  shadow. 
They  looked  at  each  other  with  strange  eyes. 

"Who?     How  many?"  asked  Jeff  Rankin. 

VOne  man  done  it." 

Jeff  Rankings  mouth  had  fallen  ajar.  He  brushed  his 
fist  across  his  loosely  trembling  lips. 

"Hal  Dozier?"  said  Andrew. 

"Him,"  said  Larry  la  Roche.  He  went  on,  looking 
gloomily  down  at  the  fire.  "He  got  me  first.  The  chief 
must  of  seen  him  get  me  by  surprise,  while  I  was  down 
off  my  hoss,  lying  flat  and  drinking  out  of  a  creek !"  He 
closed  his  great,  bony  fist  in  unspeakable  agony  at  the 
thought.  "Dozier  come  behind  and  took  me.  Frisked 
me.  Took  my  guns,  not  the  coin.  We  went  down 
through  the  hills.  Then  the  chief  slid  out  of  a  shadow 
and  come  at  us  like  a  tiger.  I  sloped." 

"You  left  Allister  to  fight  alone?"  said  Scottie  Mac- 
dougal  quietly,  for  he  had  come  from  his  lookout  to  listen. 

"I  had  no  gun,"  said  Larry,  without  raising  his  eyes 
from  the  fire.  "I  sloped.  I  looked  back  and  seen  Allis- 


264  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

ter  sitting  on  his  hoss,  dead  still.  Hal  Dozier  was  sittin' 
on  his  hoss,  dead  still.  Five  seconds,  maybe.  Then 
they  went  for  their  guns  together.  They  was  two  bangs 
like  one.  But  Allister  slid  out  of  his  saddle  and  Dozier 
stayed  in  his.  I  come  on  here." 

The  quiet  covered  them.  Joe  Clune,  with  a  shudder 
and  another  glance  over  his  shoulder,  cast  a  branch  on 
the  fire,  and  the  flames  leaped. 

"Dozier  knows  you're  with  us/'  added  Larry  la  Roche, 
and  he  cast  a  long  glance  of  hatred  at  Andrew.  "He 
knows  you're  with  us,  and  he  knows  our  luck  left  us 
when  you  come." 

Andrew  looked  about  the  circle;  not  an  eye  met  his. 

The  talk  of  Larry  la  Roche  during  the  days  of  the  ride 
was  showing  its  effect  now.  After  all,  they  were  only 
superstitious  children,  with  the  destructive  power  of 
giants.  But  the  gage  had  been  thrown  down  to  An- 
drew, and  he  dared  not  pick  it  up. 

"Boys,"  he  said,  "I'll  say  this:  Are  we  going  to  bust 
up  and  each  man  go  his  way  ?" 

There  was  no  answer. 

"If  we  do,  we  can  split  the  profits  over  again.  I'll  take 
no  money  out  of  a  thing  that  cost  Allister's  death. 
There's  my  sack  on  the  floor  of  the  shack.  Divvy  it  up 
among  you.  You  fitted  me  out  when  I  was  broke. 
That'll  pay  you  back.  Do  we  split  up  ?" 

"They's  no  reason  why  we  should — and  be  run  down 
like  rabbits,"  said  Joe  Clune,  with  another  of  those  ter- 
rible glances  over  his  shoulder  into  the  night. 

The  others  assented  with  so  many  growls. 

"All  right,"  said  Andrew,  "we  stick  together.  And, 
if  we  stick  together,  I  run  this  camp." 

"You?"  asked  Larry  la  Roche.  "Who  picked  you? 
Who  'lected  you,  son  ?  Why,  you  unlucky " 


ALLISTER'S  SUCCESSOR  265 

"Ease  up,"  said  Andrew  softly. 

The  eyes  of  La  Roche  flicked  across  the  circle  and 
picked  up  the  glances  of  the  others,  but  they  were  not 
yet  ready  to  tackle  Andrew  Lanning.  The  hand  which 
had  been  sliding  back  along  the  ground  ceased  its  retro- 
grade motion,  and  he  watched  Andrew  with  eyes  like  a 
cat. 

"The  last  thing  Allister  did,"  said  Andrew,  "was  to 
make  me  his  lieutenant.  It's  the  last  thing  he  did,  and 
I'm  going  to  push  it  through.  Not  because  I  like  the 
job."  He  raised  his  head,  but  not  his  voice.  "They 
may  run  down  the  rest  of  you.  They  won't  run  down 
me.  They  can't.  .They've  tried,  and  they  can't.  And 
I  might  be  able  to  keep  the  rest  of  you  clear.  I'm  going 
to  try.  But  I  won't  follow  the  lead  of  any  of  you.  If 
there'd  been  one  that  could  keep  the  rest  of  you  together, 
d'you  think  Allister  wouldn't  have  seen  it?  Don't  you 
think  he  would  of  made  that  one  leader?  Why,  look  at 
you!  Jeff,  you'd  follow  Clune.  But  would  Larry  or 
Scottie  follow  Clune?  Look  at  'em  and  see!" 

All  eyes  went  to  Clune,  and  then  the  glances  of  Scot- 
tie  and  La  Roche  dropped. 

"Nobody  here  would  follow  La  Roche.  He's  the  best 
man  we've  got  for  some  of  the  hardest  work,  but  you're 
too  flighty  with  your  temper,  Larry,  and  you  know  it. 
We  respect  you  just  as  much,  but  not  to  plan  things  for 
the  rest  of  us.  Is  that  straight?" 

They  could  not  face  this  direct  talk.  Each  of  them 
was  beginning  to  understand  that  the  "kid"  had  looked 
through  his  eyes  and  into  his  heart. 

"And  you,  Scottie,"  said  Andrew,  "you're  the  only 
one  I'd  follow.  I  say  that  freely.  But  who  else  would 
follow  you  ?  You're  the  best  of  us  all  at  headwork  and 
planning,  but  you  don't  swing  your  gun  as  fast,  and  you 


266  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

don't  shoot  as  straight  as  Jeff  or  Larry  or  Joe.  Is  that 
straight?" 

"What's  leading  the  gang  got  to  do  with  righting?" 
asked  Scottie  harshly.  "And  who's  got  the  right  to  the 
head  of  things  but  me  ?" 

"Ask  Allister  what  fighting  had  to  do  with  the  running 
of  things,"  said  Andrew  calmly. 

The  moon  was  sliding  up  out  of  the  East;  it  changed 
the  faces  of  the  men  and  made  them  oddly  animallike; 
they  stared,  fascinated,  at  Andrew. 

"There's  two  reasons  why  I'm  going  to  run  this  job, 
if  we  stick  together.  Allister  named  them  once.  I  can 
take  advice  from  any  one  of  you;  I  know  what  each  of 
you  can  do ;  I  can  plan  a  job  for  you ;  I  can  lead  you  clear 
of  the  law — and  there's  not  one  of  you  that  can  bully 
me  or  make  me  give  an  inch — no,  nor  all  of  you  together 
— La  Roche !  Macdougal !  Clune !  Rankin !" 

It  was  like  a  roll  call,  and  at  each  name  a  head  was 
jerked  up  in  answer,  and  two  glittering  eyes  flashed  at 
Andrew — flashed,  sparkled,  and  then  became  dull.  The 
moonlight  had  made  his  pale  skin  a  deadly  white,  and  it 
was  a  demoniac  face  they  saw. 

The  silence  was  his  answer. 

"Jeff,"  he  commanded,  "take  the  hill.  You'll  stand 
the  watch  to-night.  And  look  sharp.  If  Dozier  got 
Allister  he's  apt  to  come  at  us.  Step  on !" 

And  Jeff  Rankin  rose  without  a  word  and  lumbered 
to  the  top  of  the  hill.  Larry  la  Roche  suddenly  filled  his 
cup  with  boiling  hot  coffee,  regardless  of  the  heat,  re- 
gardless of  the  dirt  in  the  cup.  His  hand  shook  when 
he  raised  it  to  his  lips. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

A  DUEL  TO   THE  DEATH 

'T'HERE  was  no  further  attempt  at  challenging  his 
1  authority.  When  he  ordered  Clune  and  La  Roche 
to  bring  in  boughs  for  bedding — since  they  were  to  stop 
in  the  shack  overnight — they  went  silently.  But  it  was 
such  a  silence  as  comes  when  the  wind  falls  at  the  end 
of  a  day  and  in  a  silent  sky  the  clouds  pile  heavily,  high 
and  higher.  Andrew  took  the  opportunity  to  speak  to 
Scottie  Macdougal.  He  told  Scottie  simply  that  he 
needed  him,  and  with  him  at  his  back  he  could  handle 
the  others,  and  more,  too.  He  was  surprised  to  see  a 
twinkle  in  the  eye  of  the  Scotchman. 

"Why,  Andy,"  said  the  canny  fellow,  "didn't  you  see 
me  pass  you  the  wink?  I  was  with  you  all  the  time!" 

Andrew  thanked  him  and  went  into  the  cabin  to  ar- 
range for  lights.  He  had  no  intention  of  shirking  a 
share  in  the  actual  work  of  the  camp ;  even  though  Allis- 
ter  had  set  that  example  for  his  following.  He  took 
some  lengths  of  pitchy  pine  sticks  and  arranged  them  for 
torches.  One  of  them  alone  would  send  a  flare  of  yel- 
low light  through  the  cabin;  two  made  a  comfortable 
illumination.  But  he  worked  cheerlessly.  The  excite- 
ment of  the  robbery  and  the  chase  was  over,  and  then  the 
conflict  with  the  men  was  passing.  He  began  to  see 
things  truly  by  the  drab  light  of  retrospection.  The 
bullets  of  Allister  and  Clune  might  have  gone  home — 
they  were  intended  to  kill,  not  to  wound.  And  if  there 
had  been  two  deaths  he,  Andrew  Lanning,  would  have 


268  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

been  equally  guilty  with  the  men  who  handled  the  guns, 
for  he  had  been  one  of  the  forces  which  made  that  shoot- 
ing possible. 

It  was  an  ugly  way  to  look  at  it — very  ugly.  It  kept 
a  frown  on  Andrew's  face,  while  he  arranged  the  torches 
in  the  main  room  of  the  shack  and  then  put  one  for 
future  reference  in  the  little  shed  which  leaned  against 
the  rear  of  the  main  structure.  He  had  piled  the  boughs 
for  four  bunks  in  the  first  room;  he  arranged  his  own 
bed  in  this  second  room,  where  the  saddles  and  other 
accouterments  were  piled.  It  was  easily  explained,  since 
there  was  hardly  room  for  five  men  in  the  first  room. 
But  he  had  another  purpose.  He  wanted  to  separate 
himself  from  the  others,  just  as  Allister  always  did. 
Even  in  a  crowded  room  Allister  would  seem  aloof,  and 
Andre\v  determined  to  make  the  famous  leader  his  guide. 

Above  all  he  was  troubled  by  what  Scottie  had  said. 
He  would  have  felt  easy  at  heart  if  the  Scotchman  had 
met  him  with  an  argument  or  with  a  frown  or  honest 
opposition  or  with  a  hearty  handshake,  to  say  that  all 
was  well  between  them.  But  this  cunning  lie — this  cun- 
ning protestation  that  he  had  been  with  the  new  leader 
from  the  first,  put  Andrew  on  his  guard.  For  he  knew 
perfectly  well  that  Scottie  had  not  been  on  his  side  dur- 
ing the  crisis  with  La  Roche.  Macdougal  sat  before  the 
door,  his  metal  flask  of  wrhisky  beside  him.  It  was  a 
fault  of  Allister,  this  permitting  of  whisky  at  all  times 
and  in  all  places,  after  a  job  was  finished.  And  while 
it  made  the  other  men  savage  beasts,  it  turned  Scottie 
Macdougal  into  a  wily,  smiling  snake.  He  had  bit  the 
heel  of  more  than  one  man  in  his  drinking  bouts. 

Presently  La  Roche  and  Clune  came  in.  They  had 
been  talking  together  again.  Andrew  could  tell  by  the 
manner  in  which  they  separated,  as  soon  as  they  entered 


A  DUEL  TO  THE  DEATH  269 

the  room,  and  by  their  voices,  which  they  made  loud  and 
cheerful;  and,  also,  by  the  fact  that  they  avoided  look- 
ing at  each  other.  They  were  striving  patently  to  prove 
that  there  was  nothing  between  them;  and  if  Andrew  had 
been  on  guard,  now  he  became  tinglingly  so. 

They  arranged  their  bunks ;  Larry  la  Roche  pulled  off 
his  boots  and  put  on  great,  flapping  slippers,  which  he 
always  included  in  his  pack.  He  took  from  his  vest  a 
pipe  with  a  small  bowl  and  a  long  stem  and  sat  down 
cross-legged  to  smoke.  Andrew  suggested  that  Larry 
produce  the  contents  of  his  saddlebag  and  share  the  spoils 
of  war. 

He  brought  it  out  willingly  enough  and  spilled  it  cmt 
on  the  improvised  table,  a  glittering  mass  of  gold  trin- 
kets, watches,  jewels.  He  picked  out  of  the  mass  a 
chain  of  diamonds  and  spread  it  out  on  his  snaky  fingers 
so  that  the  light  could  play  on  it.  Andrew  knew  nothing 
about  gems,  but  he  knew  that  the  chain  must  be  worth 
a  great  deal  of  money. 

'This/'  said  Larry,  "is  my  share.  You  gents  can 
have  the  rest  and  split  it  up." 

"A  nice  set  of  sparklers,"  nodded  Clune,  "but  there's 
plenty  left  to  satisfy  me." 

"What  you  think,"  declared  Scottie,  "ain't  of  any  im- 
portance, Joe.  It's  what  the  chief  thinks  that  counts. 
Is  it  square,  Lanning?" 

Andrew  flushed  at  the  appeal  and  the  ugly  looks  which 
La  Roche  and  Clune  cast  toward  him.  He  could  have 
stifled, Scottie  for  that  appeal,  and  yet  Scottie  was  smil- 
ing in  the  greatest  apparent  good  nature  and  belief  in 
their  leader.  His  face  was  flushed,  but  his  lips  were 
bloodless.  Alcohol  always  affected  him  in  that  manner. 

"I  don't  know  the  value  of  the  stones,"  said  Andrew. 

"Don't  you?"  murmured  Scottie.    "I  forgot.    Thought 


270  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

maybe  you  would.     That  was  something  that  Allister  did 
know." 

The  new  leader  saw  a  flash  of  glances  toward  Scot- 
tie,  but  the  latter  continued  to  eye  the  captain  with  a 
steady  and  innocent  look. 

"Scottie,"  decided  Andrew  instantly,  "is  my  chief 
enemy/' 

If  he  could  detach  one  man  to  his  side  all  would  be 
well.  Two  against  three  would  be  a  simple  thing,  as 
long  as  he  was  one  of  the  two.  But  four  against  one 
— and  such  a  four  as  these — was  hopeless  odds.  There 
seemed  little  chance  of  getting  Joe  Clune.  There  re- 
mained only  Jeff  Rankin  as  his  possibly  ally,  and  already 
he  had  stepped  on  Jeff's  toes  sorely,  by  making  the  tired 
giant  stand  guard.  He  thought  of  all  these  things,  of 
course,  in  a  flash.  And  then  in  answer  to  his  thoughts 
Jeff  Rankin  appeared.  His  heavy  footfall  crashed  in- 
side the  door.  He  stopped,  panting,  and,  in  spite  of 
his  news,  paused  to  blink  at  the  flash  of  jewels. 

"It's  comin',"  said  Jeff.  "Larry,  hop  into  your  shoes. 
No,  don't  stop  for  that.  Boys,  get  your  guns  and  scat- 
ter out  of  the  cabin.  Duck  that  light!  Hal  Dozier  is 
comin'  up  the  valley." 

There  was  not  a  single  exclamation,  but  the  lights 
went  out  as  if  by  magic;  there  were  a  couple  of  light, 
hissing  sounds,  such  as  iron  makes  when  it  is  whipped 
swiftly  across  leather. 

"How'd  you  know  him  by  this  light?"  asked  Larry  la 
Roche,  as  they  went  out  of  the  door.  Outside  they 
found  everything  brilliant  with  the  white  moonshine  of 
the  mountains. 

"Nobody  but  Hal  Dozier  rides  twistin'  that  way  in 
the  saddle.  I'd  tell  him  in  a  thousand.  It's  old  wounds 
that  makes  him  ride  like  that.  We  got  ten  minutes. 


A  DUEL  TO  THE  DEATH  271 

He's  takin'  the  long  way  up  the  canon.     And  they  ain't 
anybody  with  him/' 

"If  he's  come  alone,"  said  Andrew,  "he's  come  for 
me  and  not  for  the  rest  of  you." 

No  one  spoke.  Then  Larry  la  Roche:  "He  wants 
to  make  it  man  to  man.  That's  clear.  That's  why  he 
pulled  up  his  hoss  and  waited  for  Allister  to  make  the 
first  move  for  his  gun.  It's  a  clean  challenge  to  some 
one  of  us." 

Andrew  saw  his  chance  and  used  it  mercilessly. 

"Which  one  of  you  is  willing  to  take  the  challenge?" 
he  asked.  "Which  one  of  you  is  willing  to  ride  down 
the  canon  and  meet  him  alone?  La  Roche,  I've  heard 
you  curse  Dozier." 

But  Larry  la  Roche  answered :  "What's  this  fool  talk 
about  takin'  a  challenge?  I  say,  string  out  behind  the 
hills  and  pot  him  with  rifles/' 

"One  man,  and  we're  five,"  said  Jeff  Rankin.  "It 
ain't  sportin',  Larry.  I  hate  to  hear  you  say  that.  We'd 
be  despised  all  over  the  mountains  if  we  done  it.  He's 
makin'  his  play  with  a  lone  hand,  and  we've  got  to  meet 
him  the  same  way.  Eh,  chief  ?" 

It  was  sweet  to  Andrew  to  hear  that  appeal.  And 
he  saw  them  turn  one  by  one  toward  him  in  the  moon- 
light and  wait.  It  was  his  first  great  tribute.  He 
looked  over  those  four  wolfish  figures  and  felt  his  heart 
swelling. 

"Wish  me  luck,  boys,"  he  said,  and  without  another 
word  he  turned  and  went  down  the  hillside. 

The  others  watched  him  with  amazement.  He  felt  it 
rather  than  saw  it,  and  it  kept  a  tingle  in  his  blood.  He 
felt,  also,  that  they  were  spreading  out  to  either  side  to 
get  a  clear  view  of  the  fight  that  was  to  follow,  and  it 
occurred  to  him  that,  even  if  Hal  Dozier  killed  him,  there 


272  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

would  not  be  one  chance  in  a  thousand  of  Hal's  getting 
away.     Four  deadly  rifles  would  be  covering  him. 

It  must  be  that  a  sort  of  madness  had  come  on  Dozier, 
advancing  in  this  manner,  unsupported  by  a  posse.  Or, 
perhaps,  he  had  no  idea  that  the  outlaws  could  be  so  close. 
He  expected  a  daylight  encounter  high  up  the  mountains. 

But  Andrew  went  swiftly  down  the  ravine. 

Broken  cliffs,  granite  bowlders  jumped  up  on  either 
side  of  him,  and  the  rocks  were  pale  and  glimmering 
under  the  moon.  This  one  valley  seemed  to  receive  the 
light;  the  loftier  mountains  rolling  away  on  each  side 
were  black  as  jet,  with  sharp,  ragged  outlines  against  the 
sky.  It  was  a  cold  light,  and  the  chill  of  it  went  through 
Andrew.  He  was  afraid,  afraid  as  he  had  been  when 
Buck  Heath  faced  him  in  Martindale,  or  when  Bill  Do- 
zier ran  him  down,  or  when  the  famous  Sandy  cornered 
him.  His  fingers  felt  brittle,  and  his  breath  came  and 
went  in  short  gasps,  drawn  into  the  upper  part  of  his 
lungs  only. 

Behind  him,  like  an  electric  force  pushing  him  on,  the 
outlaws  watched  his  steps.  They,  also,  were  shuddering 
with  fear,  and  he  knew  it.  But  stronger  than  the  force 
behind  was  the  desperate  thrill,  the  old  urge  to  cast  him- 
self away  like  a  man  on  the  cliff.  A  sort  of  terrible  hap- 
piness was  in  Andrew,  but  a  weakness  in  his  legs  made 
him  walk  slowly  and  more  slowly.  His  knees  were  numb. 
A  puma  was  crying  among  the  mountains.  He  really  did 
not  hear  the  sound  or  recognize  it;  he  only  knew  that 
something  came  on  his  ear  like  the  moonlight  on  his  eye, 
something  that  thrust  a  chill  home  to  his  heart. 

Dozier  was  coming,  fresh  from  another  kill. 

"Only  one  man  I'd  think  twice  about  meeting,"  Allis- 
ter  had  said  in  the  old  days,  and  he  had  been  right.  Yet 


A  DUEL  TO  THE  DEATH  273 

there  were  thousands  who  had  sworn  that  Allister  was 
invincible — that  he  would  never  fall  before  a  single  man. 

He  thought,  too,  of  the  lean  face  and  the  peculiar,  set 
eye  of  Dozier.  The  man  had  no  fear,  he  had  no  nerves ; 
he  was  a  machine,  and  death  was  his  business. 

And  was  he,  Andrew  Lanning,  unknown  until  the  past 
few  months,  now  going  down  to  face  destruction,  as  full 
of  fear  as  a  girl  trembling  at  the  dark?  What  was  it 
that  drew  them  together,  so  unfairly  matched?  A 
ghostly  thought  came  to  him  that  all  this  had  been  planned 
and  arranged  by  some  unearthly  power,  and  now,  against 
his  will,  he  was  dragged  into  the  path  of  the  destroyer. 

He  could  still  see  only  the  white  haze  of  the  moon- 
shine before  him,  but  now  there  was  the  clicking  of  hoofs 
on  the  rock.  Dozier  was  coming.  Andrew  walked 
squarely  out  into  the  middle  of  the  ravine  and  waited. 
He  had  set  his  teeth.  The  nerves  on  the  bottom  of  his 
feet  were  twitching.  Something  freezing  cold  was  be- 
ginning at  the  tips  of  his  fingers.  And,  unless  he  fought 
those  beginnings  down,  a  great  trembling  would  sweep 
over  him  in  a  moment,  and  he  would  be  helpless.  How 
long  would  it  take  Dozier  to  come  ? 

An  interminable  time.  The  hoofbeats  actually  seemed 
to  fade  out  and  draw  away  at  one  time.  Then  they 
began  again  very  near  him,  and  now  they  stopped.  Had 
Dozier  seen  him  around  the  elbow  curve?  That  heart- 
breaking instant  passed,  and  the  clicking  began  again. 
Then  the  rider  came  slowly  in  view.  First  there  was 
the  nodding  head  of  the  cow  pony,  then  the  foot  in  the 
stirrup,  then  Hal  Dozier  riding  a  little  twisted  in  the 
saddle — a  famous  characteristic  of  his. 

He  came  on  closer  and  closer.  He  began  to  seem 
huge  on  the  horse.  Was  he  blind  not  to  see  the  figure 
that  waited  for  him? 


274  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

A  voice  that  was  not  his,  that  he  did  not  recognize, 
leaped  out  from  between  his  teeth  and  tore  his  throat: 
"Dozier!" 

The  cow  pony  halted  with  a  start;  the  rider  jerked 
straight  in  his  saddle;  the  echo  of  the  call  barked  back 
from  some  angling  cliff  face  down  the  ravine.  All  that 
before  Dozier  made  his  move.  He  had  dropped  the 
reins,  and  Andrew,  with  a  mad  intention  of  proving  that 
he  himself  did  not  make  the  first  move  toward  his  weapon, 
had  folded  his  arms. 

He  did  not  move  through  the  freezing  instant  that  fol- 
lowed. Not  until  there  was  a  convulsive  jerk  of  Dozier's 
elbow  did  he  stir  his  folded  arms.  Then  his  right  arm 
loosened,  and  the  hand  flashed  down  to  his  holster. 

Was  Dozier  moving  with  clogged  slowness,  or  was  it 
that  he  had  ceased  to  be  a  body,  that  he  was  all  brain  and 
hair-trigger  nerves  making  every  thousandth  part  of  a 
second  seem  a  unit  of  time  ?  It  seemed  to  Andrew  that 
the  marshal's  hand  dragged  through  its  work;  to  those 
who  watched  from  the  sides  of  the  ravine,  there  was  a 
flash  of  fire  from  his  gun  before  they  saw  even  the  flash 
of  the  steel  out  of  the  holster.  The  gun  spat  in  the  hand 
of  Dozier,  and  something  jerked  at  the  shirt  of  Andrew 
beside  his  neck.  He  himself  had  fired  only  once,  and 
he  knew  that  the  shot  had  been  too  high  and  to  the  right 
of  his  central  target;  yet  he  did  not  fire  again.  Some- 
thing strange  was  happening  to  Hal  Dozier.  His  head 
had  nodded  forward  as  though  in  mockery  of  the  bullet ; 
his  extended  right  hand  fell  slowly,  slowly;  his  whole 
body  began  to  sway  and  lean  toward  the  right.  Not 
until  that  moment  did  Andrew  know  that  he  had  shot  the 
marshal  through  the  body. 

He  raced  to  the  side  of  the  cattle  pony,  and,  as  the 
horse  veered  away,  Hal  Dozier  dropped  limply  into  his 


A  DUEL  TO  THE  DEATH  275 

arms.  He  lay  with  his  limbs  sprawling  at  odd  angles 
beside  him.  His  muscles  seemed  paralyzed,  but  his  eyes 
were  bright  and  wide,  and  his  face  perfectly  composed. 

"There's  luck  for  you/'  said  Hal  Dozier  calmly.  "I 
pulled  it  two  inches  to  the  right,  or  I  would  have  broken 
your  neck  with  the  slug — anyway,  I  spoiled  your  shirt." 

The  cold  was  gone  from  Andrew,  and  he  felt  his  heart 
thundering  and  shaking  his  body.  He  was  repeating  like 
a  frightened  child,  "For  God's  sake,  Hal,  don't  die — 
don't  die." 

The  paralyzed  body  did  not  move,  but  the  calm  voice 
answered  him:  "You  fool!  Finish  me  before  your 
gang  comes  and  does  it  for  you !" 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

ANDY   PAYS   HIMSELF 

THERE  was  a  rush  of  footsteps  behind  and  around 
him,  a  jangle  of  voices,  and  there  were  the  four  hud- 
dled over  Hal  Dozier.     Andrew  had  risen  and  stepped 
back,  silently  thanking  God  that  it  was  not  a  death.     He 
heard  the  voices  of  the  four  like  voices  in  a  dream. 

"A  clean  one/'  "A  nice  bit  of  work."  "Dozier,  are 
you  thinkin'  of  Allister,  curse  you?"  "D'you  remem- 
ber Hugh  Wiley  now?"  "D'you  maybe  recollect  my  pal, 
'Bud'  Swain?  Think  about  'em,  Dozier,  while  you're 
dyin' !" 

The  calm  eyes  traveled  without  hurry  from  face  to 
face.  And  curiosity  came  to  Andrew,  a  cool,  deadly 
curiosity.  He  stepped  among  the  gang. 

"He's  not  fatally  hurt,"  he  said.  "What  d'you  intend 
to  do  with  him?" 

"You're  all  wrong,  chief,"  said  Larry  la  Roche,  and 
he  grinned  at  Andrew.  His  submission  now  was  perfect 
and  complete.  There  was  even  a  sort  of  worship  in  the 
bright  eyes  that  looked  at  the  new  leader.  "I  hate  to 
say  it,  but  right  as  you  mos'  gener'ly  are,  you're  wrong 
this  time.  He's  done.  He  don't  need  no  more  lookin' 
to.  Leave  him  be  for  an  hour  and  he'll  be  finished. 
Also,  that'll  give  him  a  chance  to  think.  He  needs  a 
chance.  Old  Curley  had  a  chance  to  think — took  him 
four  hours  to  kick  out  after  Dozier  plugged  him.  I 
heard  what  he  had  to  say,  and  it  wasn't  pretty.  I  think 


ANDY  PAYS  HIMSELF  277 

maybe  it'd  be  sort  of  interestin'  to  hear  what  Dozier  has 
to  say.     Long  about  the  time  he  gets  thirsty.     Eh,  boys  ?" 

There  was  a  snarl  from  the  other  three  as  they  looked 
down  at  the  wounded  man,  who  did  not  speak  a  word. 
And  Andrew  knew  that  he  was  indeed  alone  with  that 
crew,  for  the  man  whom  he  had  just  shot  down  was 
nearer  to  him  than  the  members  of  Allister's  gang. 

He  spoke  suddenly :  "Jeff,  ta^e  ms  ^ea(^  >  Clune,  take 
his  feet.  Carry  him  up  to  the  cabin." 

They  only  stared  at  him. 

"Look  here,  captain,"  said  Scottie  in  a  soft  voice,  just 
a  trifle  thickened  by  whisky,  "are  you  thinking  of  taking 
him  up  there  and  tying  him  up  so  that  he'll  live  through 
this?" 

And  again  the  other  three  snarled  softly. 

"You  murdering  hounds !"  said  Andrew. 

That  was  all.  They  looked  at  each  other ;  they  looked 
at  the  new  leader.  And  the  sight  of  his  white  face  and 
his  nervous  right  hand  was  too  much  for  them.  They 
took  up  the  marshal  and  carried  him  to  the  cabin,  his 
pony  following  like  a  dog  behind.  They  brought  him, 
without  asking  for  directions,  straight  into  the  little  rear 
room — Andrew's  room.  It  was  a  sufficiently  intelligible 
way  of  saying  that  this  was  his  work  and  none  of  theirs. 
And  not  a  hand  lifted  to  aid  him  while  he  went  to  work 
with  the  bandaging.  He  knew  little  about  such  work, 
but  the  marshal  himself,  in  a  rather  faint,  but  perfectly 
steady  voice,  gave  directions.  And  in  the  painful  clean- 
ing of  the  wound  he  did  not  murmur  once.  Neither  did 
he  express  the  slightest  gratitude.  He  kept  following 
Andrew  about  the  room  with  coldly  curious  eyes. 

In  the  next  room  the  voices  of  the  four  were  a  steady, 
rumbling  murmur.  Now  and  then  the  glance  of  the 
marshal  wandered  to  the  door.  When  the  bandaging 


2/8  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

was  completed,  he  asked,  "Do  you  know  you've  started 
a  job  you  can't  finish?" 

"Ah?"  murmured  Andrew. 

"Those  four,"  said  the  marshal,  "won't  let  you." 

Andrew  smiled. 

"Are  you  easier  now  ?" 

"Don't  bother  about  me.     I'll  tell  you  what — I  wish 
you'd  get  me  a  drink  of  water." 

"I'll  send  one  of  the  boys." 

"No,  get  it  yourself.     I  want  to  say  something  to 
them  while  you're  gone." 

Andrew  had  risen  up  from  his  knees.  He  now 
studied  the  face  of  the  marshal  steadily. 

"You  want  'em  to  come  in  here  and  drill  you,  eh  ?"  he 
said.  "Why?" 

The  other  nodded. 

"I've  given  up  hope  once ;  I've  gone  through  the  hard- 
est part  of  dying;  let  them  finish  the  job  now/' 

"To-morrow  you'll  feel  differently." 

"Will  I?     Not  I!" 

Andrew  stared  at  him. 

"What  have  I  got  to  live  for?"  asked  the  marshal. 
All  at  once  his  eyes  went  yellow  with  hate.  "I  go  back 
to  the  desert — I  go  to  Martindale — people  I  pass  on  the 
street  whisper  as  I  go  by.  They'll  tell  over  and  over  how 
I  went  down.  And  a  kid  did  it — a  raw  kid!" 

He  closed  his  eyes  in  silent  agony.  Then  he  looked 
up  more  keenly  than  before.  "How'll  they  know  that  it 
was  luck — that  rny  gun  stuck  in  the  holster — and  that 
you  jumped  me  on  the  draw?" 

"You  lie,"  said  Andrew  calmly.  "Your  gun  came  out 
clean  as  a  whistle,  and  I  waited  for  you,  Dozier.  You 
know  I  did." 


ANDY  PAYS  HIMSELF  279 

The  pain  in  the  marshal's  face  became  a  ghastly  thing 
to  see.  At  last  he  could  speak. 

"A  sneak  always  lies  well,"  he  replied,  as  he  sneered 
at  Lanning. 

He  went  on,  while  Andrew  sat  shivering  with  passion. 
"And  any  fool  can  get  in  a  lucky  shot  now  and  then. 
But,  when  I'm  out  of  this,  I'll  hunt  you  down  again  and 
I'll  plant  you  full  of  lead,  my  son !  You  can  lay  to  that !" 

The  hard  breathing  of  Andrew  gradually  subsided. 

"It  won't  work,  Dozier,"  he  said  quietly.  "You  can't 
make  me  mad  enough  to  shoot  a  man  who's  down.  You 
can't  make  me  murder  you." 

The  marshal  closed  his  eyes  again,  while  his  breathing 
was  beginning  to  grow  fainter,  and  there  was  an  unpleas- 
ant rattle  in  the  hollow  of  his  throat.  Andrew  went 
into  the  next  room. 

"Scottie,"  he  said,  "will  you  let  me  have  your  flask?" 

Scottie  smiled  at  him. 

"Not  for  what  you'd  use  it  for,  Lanning,"  he  said. 

Andrew  picked  up  a  cup  and  shoved  it  across  the  table. 

"Pour  a  little  whisky  in  that,  please,"  he  said. 

Scottie  looked  up  and  studied  him.  Then  he  tipped 
his  flask  and  poured  a  thin  stream  into  the  cup  until  it 
was  half  full.  Andrew  went  back  toward  the  door,  the 
cup  in  his  left  hand.  He  backed  up,  keeping  his  face 
steadily  toward  the  four,  and  kicked  open  the  door  behind 
him. 

War,  he  knew,  had  been  declared.  Then  he  raised 
the  marshal's  head  and  gave  him  a  sip  of  the  fiery  stuff. 
It  cleared  the  face  of  the  wounded  man. 

Then  Andrew  rolled  down  his  blankets  before  the 
door,  braced  a  small  stick  against  it,  so  that  the  sound 
would  be  sure  to  waken  him  if  any  one  tried  to  enter, 
and  laid  down  for  the  night.  He  was  almost  asleep 


280  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

when  the  marshal  said :  "Are  you  really  going  to  stick 
it  out,  Andy  ?" 

"Yes." 

''In  spite  of  what  I've  said?" 

"I  suppose  you  meant  it  all  ?  You'd  hunt  me  down  and 
kill  me  like  a  dog  after  you  get  back  on  your  feet?" 

"Like  a  dog." 

"If  you  think  it  over  and  see  things  clearly,"  replied 
Andrew,  "you'll  see  that  what  I've  done  I've  done  for 
my  own  sake,  and  not  for  yours." 

"How  do  you  make  that  out — with  four  men  in  the 
next  room  ready  to  stick  a  knife  in  your  back — if  I  know 
anything  about  'em?" 

"I'll  tell  you :  I  owe  nothing  to  you,  but  a  man  owes  a 
lot  to  himself,  and  I'm  going  to  pay  myself  in  full." 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

IN   THE   OTHER   ROOM 

HE  closed  his  eyes  and  tried  to  sleep,  but,  though  he 
came  to  the  verge  of  oblivion,  the  voices  from  the 
other  room  finally  waked  him.  They  had  been  chang- 
ing subtly  during  the  past  hours  and  now  they  rose,  and 
there  was  a  ring  to  them  that  troubled  Andrew. 

He  could  make  out  their  talk  part  of  the  time;  and 
then  again  they  lowered  their  voices  to  rumbling  growls. 
At  such  times  he  knew  that  they  were  speaking  of  him, 
and  the  hum  of  the  undertone  was  more  ominous  than 
open  threats.  When  they  talked  aloud  there  was  a  con- 
fused clamor;  when  they  were  more  hushed  there  was 
always  the  oily  murmur  of  Scottie's  voice,  taking  the 
lead  and  directing  the  current  of  the  talk.  More  and 
more  he  felt  that  this  man  would  be  his  stumbling  block. 
One  and  all  they  hated  the  marshal  and  had  no  great 
love  for  their  new  leader ;  but  the  rest  of  them  were  rather 
dangerous  mechanics  in  the  world  of  crime ;  Scottie  Mac- 
dougal  was  a  thinking  brain. 

The  liquor  was  going  the  rounds  fast,  now.  Before 
they  left  for  the  Murchison  Pass  they  had  laid  in  a  com- 
fortable supply,  but  apparently  Allister  had  cached  a 
quantity  of  the  stuff  at  the  Twin  Eagles  shack.  Of  one 
thing  Andrew  was  certain,  that  four  such  practiced 
whisky  drinkers  would  never  let  their  party  denegerate 
into  a  drunken  rout;  and  another  thing  was  even  more 
sure — that  Scottie  Macdougal  would  keep  his  head  better 
than  the  best  of  the  others.  But  what  the  alcohol  would 


282  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

do  would  be  to  cut  the  leash  of  constraint  and  dig  up 
every  strong  passion  among  them.  For  instance,  Jeff 
Rankin  was  by  far  the  most  equable  of  the  lot,  but,  given 
a  little  whisky,  Jeff  became  a  conscienceless  devil. 

He  knew  his  own  weakness,  and  Andrew,  crawling  to 
the  door  and  putting  his  ear  to  the  crack  under  it,  found 
that  the  sounds  of  the  voices  became  instantly  clearer; 
the  others  were  plying  Jeff  with  the  liquor,  and  Jeff, 
knowing  that  he  had  had  enough,  was  persistently  refus- 
ing, but  with  less  and  less  energy. 

There  must  be  a  very  definite  reason  for  this  urging  of 
Rankin  toward  the  whisky,  and  Andrew  was  not  hard 
pressed  to  find  out  that  reason.  The  big,  rather  good- 
natured  giant  was  leaning  toward  the  side  of  the  new 
leader,  just  as  steadily  as  the  others  were  leaning  away 
from  him.  Whisky  alone  would  stop  his  scruples. 
Larry  la  Roche,  his  voice  a  guarded,  hissing  whisper, 
was  speaking  to  Jeff  as  Andrew  began  listening  from  his 
new  position. 

"What  I  ask  you/*  said  La  Roche,  "is  this :  Have  we 
had  any  luck  since  the  kid  joined  us?" 

"We've  got  a  pile  of  the  coin,"  said  Jeff  obstinately. 

"D'yo-u  stack  a  little  coin  against  the  loss  of  Allister?" 
asked  Larry  la  Roche. 

"Easy,"  cautioned  Scottie.     "Not  so  loud,  Larry." 

"He's  asleep,"  said  Larry  la  Roche.  "I  heard  him 
lie  down  after  he'd  put  something  agin*  the  door.  No 
fear  of  him." 

"Don't  be  so  sure.  He  might  make  a  noise  lying  down 
and  make  not  a  sound  getting  up.  And,  even  when  -he's 
asleep,  he's  got  one  eye  open  like  a  wolf." 

"Well,"  repeated  Larry  insistently,  and  now  his  voice 
was  so  faint  that  Andrew  had  to  guess  at  half  the  syl- 


IN  THE  OTHER  ROOM  283 

lables,  "answer  my  question,  Jeff:  Have  we  had  good 
luck  or  bad  luck,  takin'  it  all  in  all,  since  he  joined  us?" 

"How  do  I  know  it's  his  fault?"  asked  Jeff.  "We  all 
knew  it  would  be  a  close  pinch  if  Allister  ever  jumped 
Hal  Dozier.  We  thought  Allister  was  a  little  bit  faster 
than  Dozier.  Everybody  else  said  that  Dozier  was  the 
best  man  that  ever  pulled  a  gun  out  of  leather.  It  wasn't 
luck  that  beat  Allister — it  was  a  better  man." 

There  was  a  thud  as  his  fist  hit  the  rickety,  squeaking 
table  in  the  center  of  the  room. 

"I  say,  let's  play  fair  and  square.  How  do  I  know 
that  the  kid  won't  make  a  good  leader?" 

Scottie  broke  in  smoothly : 

"Makes  me  grin  when  you  say  that,  Jeff.  Tell  you 
what  the  trouble  is  with  you,  old  man:  you're  too  mod- 
est. A  fellow  that's  done  what  you've  done,  following 
a  kid  that  ain't  twenty-five!" 

There  was  a  bearlike  grunt  from  Jeff.  He  was  not 
altogether  displeased  by  this  gracious  tribute.  But  he 
answered :  "You're  too  slippery  with  your  tongue,  Scot- 
tie.  I  never  know  when  you  mean  what  you  say!" 

It  must  have  been  a  bitter  pill  for  Scottie  to  swallow, 
but  he  was  not  particularly  formidable  with  his  weapons, 
compared  with  straight-eyed  Jeff  Rankin,  and  he  an- 
swered: "Maybe  there's  some  I  jolly  along  a  bit,  but, 
when  I  talk  to  old  Jeff  Rankin,  I  talk  straight.  Look 
at  me  now,  Jeff.  Do  I  look  as  if  I  was  joking  with  you  ?" 

"I  ain't  any  hand  at  readin'  minds,"  grumbled  Jeff. 

He  added  suddenly:  "I  say  it  was  the  finest  thing 
I  ever  see,  the  way  young  Lanning  stood  out  there  in  the 
valley.  Did  you  watch?  Did  you  see  him  let  Dozier 
get  the  jump  on  his  gun?  Pretty,  pretty,  pretty!  And 
then  his  own  gat  was  out  like  a  flash — one  wink,  and 
there  was  Hal  Dozier  drilled  clean !  I  tell  you,  boys,  you 


284  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

got  this  young  Lanning  wrong.  I  sort  of  cotton  to  the 
kid.  I  always  did.  I  liked  him  the  first  time  I  ever 
laid  eyes  on  him.  So  did  you  all,  except  Larry,  yonder. 
And  it  was  Larry  that  turned  you  agin'  him  after  he  come 
and  joined  us.  Who  asked  him  to  join  us?  We  did!" 

"Who  asked  him  to  be  captain  ?"  said  Scottie. 

It  seemed  to  stagger  Jeff  Rankin. 

"Allister  used  him  for  a  sort  of  second  man;  seemed 
like  he  meant  him  to  lead  us  in  case  anything  happened 
to  him." 

"While  Allister  was  living,"  said  Scottie,  "you  know  I 
would  of  followed  him  anywhere.  Wasn't  I  his  ad- 
vance agent?  Didn't  I  do  his  planning  with  him?  But 
now  Allister's  dead — worse  luck — but  dead  he  is." 

He  paused  here  cunningly,  and,  no  doubt,  during  that 
pause  each  of  the  outlaws  conjured  up  a  picture  of  the 
scar-faced  man  with  the  bright,  steady  eyes,  who  had 
led  them  so  long  and  quelled  them  so  often  and  held  them 
together  through  thick  and  thin. 

"Allister's  dead,"  repeated  Scottie,  "and  what  he  did 
while  he  was  alive  don't  hold  us  now.  We  chose  him 
for  captain  out  of  our  own  free  will.  Now  that  he's 
dead  we  have  the  right  to  elect  another  captain.  What's 
Lanning  done  that  he  has  a  right  to  fill  Allister's  place 
with  us?  What  job  did  he  have  at  the  holdup?  When 
we  stuck  up  the  train  didn't  he  have  the  easiest  job?  Did 
he  give  one  good  piece  of  advice  while  we  were  plannin' 
the  job?  Did  he  show  any  ability  to  lead  us,  then?" 

The  answer  came  unhesitatingly  from  Rankin:  "It 
wasn't  his  place  to  lead  while  Allister  was  with  us.  And 
I'll  tell  you  what  he  done  after  Allister  died.  When  I 
seen  Dozier  comin',  who  was  it  that  stepped  out  to  meet 
him?  Was  it  you,  Scottie?  No,  it  wasn't.  It  wasn't 
you,  La  Roche,  neither,  nor  you,  Clune,  and  it  wasn't  me. 


IN  THE  OTHER  ROOM  285 

Made  me  sick  inside,  the  thought  of  f  acin'  Dozier.  Why  ? 
Because  I  knew  he'd  never  been  beat.  Because  I  knew 
he  was  a  better  man  than  Allister,  and  that  Allister  had 
been  a  better  man  than  me.  And  it  ain't  no  braggin'  to 
say  I'm  a  handier  gent  with  my  guns  than  any  of  you. 
Well,  I  was  sick,  and  you  all  were  sick.  I  seen  your 
faces.  But  who  steps  out  and  takes  the  lead?  It  was 
the  kid  you  grin  at,  Scottie;  it  was  Andy  Lanning,  and 
I  say  it  was  a  fine  thing  to  do!" 

It  was  undoubtedly  a  facer;  but  Scottie  came  back 
in  his  usual  calm  manner. 

"I  know  it  was  Lanning,  and  it  was  a  fine  thing.  I 
don't  deny,  either,  that  he's  a  fine  gent  in  lots  of  ways — 
and  in  his  place — but  is  his  place  at  the  head  of  the  gang? 
Are  we  going  to  be  bullied  into  having  him  there  ?" 

'Then  let  him  follow,  and  somebody  else  lead." 

"You  make  me  laugh,  Jeff.  He's  not  the  sort  that  will 
follow  anybody." 

Plainly  Scottie  was  working  on  Jeff  from  a  distance. 
He  would  bring  him  slowly  around  to  the  place  where 
he  would  agree  to  the  attack  on  Andrew  for  the  sake  of 
getting  at  the  wounded  marshal.  And  the  big  man  did 
not  have  the  mental  endurance  to  hold  out  long  against 
his  more  agile-minded  comrade. 

"Have  another  drink,  Jeff,  and  then  let's  get  back  to 
the  main  point,  and  that  has  nothin'  to  do  with  Andy. 
It  is :  Is  Hal  Dozier  going  to  live  or  die?" 

The  time  had  come,  Andrew  saw,  to  make  his  final 
play.  A  little  more  of  this  talk  and  the  big,  good- 
hearted,  strong-handed  Rankin  would  be  completely  on 
the  side  of  the  others.  And  that  meant  the  impossible 
odds  of  four  to  one.  Andrew  knew  it.  He  would  at- 
tack any  two  of  them  without  fear.  But  three  became 


286  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

a  desperate,  a  grim  battle;  and  four  to  one  made  the 
thing  suicide. 

He  slipped  silently  to  his  feet  from  beside  the  door  and 
picked  up  the  canvas  bag  which  represented  his  share  of 
the  robbery.  Then  he  knocked  at  the  door. 

"Boys,"  he  called,  "there's  been  some  hard  thoughts 
between  the  lot  of  you  and  me.  It  looks  like  we're  on 
opposite  sides  of  a  fence.  I  want  to  come  in  and  talk  to 
you." 

Instantly  Scottie  answered:  "Why,  come  on  in,  cap- 
tain ;  not  such  hard  words  as  you  think — not  on  my  side, 
anyways  I" 

It  was  a  cunning  enough  lure,  no  doubt,  and  Andrew 
had  his  hand  on  the  latch  of  the  door  before  a  second 
thought  reached  him.  If  he  exposed  himself,  would  not 
the  three  of  them  pull  their  guns?  They  would  be  able 
to  account  for  it  to  Jeff  Rankin  later  on. 

"I'll  come  in,"  said  Andrew,  "when  I  hear  you  give 
me  surety  that  I'll  be  safe.  I  don't  trust  you,  Scottie." 

"Thanks  for  that.     What  surety  do  you  want?" 

"I  want  the  word  of  Jeff  Rankin  that  he'll  see  me 
through  till  I've  made  my  talk  to  you  and  my  proposi- 
tion." 

It  was  an  excellent  counterthrust,  but  Larry  la  Roche 
saw  through  the  attempt  to  win  Jeff  immediately. 

"You  skunk!"  he  said.  "If  you  don't  trust  us  we 
don't  trust  you.  Stay  where  you  be.  We  don't  want  to 
hear  your  talk!" 

"Jeff,  what  do  you  say?"  continued  Andrew  calmly. 

There  was  a  clamor  of  three  voices  and  then  the  louder 
voice  of  Jeff,  like  a  lion  shaking  itself  clear  of  wolves: 
"Andy,  come  in,  and  I'll  see  you  get  a  square  deal — if 
you'll  trust  me !" 

Instantly  Andrew  threw  open  the  door  and  stepped  in, 


IN  THE  OTHER  ROOM  287 

his  revolver  in  one  hand,  the  heavy  sack  over  his  other 
arm,  a  dragging  weight  and  also  a  protection. 

"I'll  trust  you,  Jeff,"  he  said.  "Trust  you?  Why, 
man,  with  you  at  my  back  I'd  laugh  at  twenty  fellows 
like  these.  They  simply  don't  count." 

It  was  another  well-placed  shot,  and  he  saw  Rankin 
flush  heavily  with  pleasure.  Scottie  tilted  his  box  back 
against  the  wall  and  delivered  his  counterstroke :  "He 
said  the  same  thing  to  me  earlier  on  in  the  evening,"  he 
remarked  casually.  "But  I  told  him  where  to  go.  I  told 
him  that  I  was  with  the  bunch  first  and  last  and  all  the 
time.  That's  why  he  hates  me!" 


CHAPTER  XL 

AT   THE   POINT   OF   A   RIFLE 

YV/HILE  he  searched  desperately  for  an  answer,  An- 
W  drew  found  none.  Then  he  saw  the  stupid,  big 
eyes  of  Jeff  wander  from  his  face  to  the  face  of  Scot- 
tie,  and  he  knew  that  his  previous  advantage  had  been 
completely  neutralized. 

"Boys,"  he  said,  and  he  surveyed  the  restless,  savage 
figures  of  Clune  and  La  Roche,  "I've  come  for  a  little 
plain  talk.  There's  no  more  question  about  me  leadin' 
the  gang.  None  at  all.  I  wouldn't  lead  you,  La  Roche, 
nor  you,  Clune,  nor  you,  Scottie.  There's  only  one  man 
here  that's  clean — and  he's  Jeff  Rankin." 

He  waited  for  that  point  to  sink  home;  as  Scottie 
opened  his  lips  to  strike  back,  he  went  ahead  deliberately. 
By  retaining  his  own  calm  he  saw  that  he  kept  a  great 
advantage.  Rankin  began  fumbling  at  his  cup;  Scottie 
instantly  filled  it  half  full  with  whisky. 

"Don't  drink  that,"  said  Andrew  sharply.  "Don't 
drink  it,  Jeff.  Scottie's  doin'  that  on  purpose  to  get  you 
sapheaded !" 

"Do  what  he  says,"  said  Scottie  calmly.  "Throw  the 
dirty  stuff  away,  Jeff.  Do  what  your  daddy  tells  you. 
You  ain't  old  enough  to  know  your  own  mind,  are  you  ?" 

Big  Jeff  flushed,  cast  a  glance  of  defiance  that  included 
both  Andrew  and  Scottie,  and  tossed  off  the  whisky.  It 
was  a  blow  over  the  heart  for  Andrew;  he  had  to  finish 
his  talking  now,  before  Jeff  Rankin  was  turned  mad  by 


AT  THE  POINT  OF  A  RIFLE  289 

the  whisky.     And  if  he  worked  it  well  Jeff  would  be  on 
his  side.     The  madness  would  fight  for  Andrew. 

He  said :  'There's  no  more  question  about  me  being 
a  leader  for  you.  Personally,  I'd  like  to  have  Jeff — not 
to  follow  me,  but  to  be  pals  with  me." 

Jeff  cleared  his  throat  and  looked  about  with  foolish 
importance.  Not  an  eye  wavered -to  meet  his  glance; 
every  look  was  fixed  with  a  hungry  hate  upon  Andrew. 

'There's  only  one  thing  up  between  the  lot  of  us :  Do 
1  keep  Hal  Dozier,  or  do  you  get  him — to  murder  him  ? 
Do  you  fellows  ride  on  your  way  free  and  easy,  to  do 
what  you  please,  or  do  you  tackle  me  in  that  room,  eat 
my  lead,  and  then,  if  you  finish  me,  get  a  chance  to  kill 
a  man  that's  nearly  dead  now  ?  How  does  it  look  to  you, 
boys?  Think  it  over.  Think  sharp!" 

He  knew  while  he  spoke  that  there  was  one  exqui- 
sitely simple  way  to  end  both  his  life  and  the  life  of 
Dozier — let  them  touch  a  match  to  the  building  and  shoot 
him  while  he  ran  from  the  flames.  But  he  could  only 
pray  that  they  would  not  see  it. 

"And  besides,  I'll  do  more.  You  think  you  have  a 
claim  on  Dozier.  I'll  buy  him  from  you.  Here's  half 
his  weight  in  gold.  Will  you  take  the  money  and  clear 
out?  Or  are  you  going  to  make  the  play  at  me?  If 
you  do,  you'll  buy  whatever  you  get  at  a  high  price !" 

"You  forget "  put  in  Scottie,  but  Andrew  inter- 
rupted. 

"I  don't  want  to  hear  from  you,  Scottie.  I  know 
you're  a  snake.  I  want  to  hear  from  Jeff  Rankin.  Speak 
up,  Jeff.  Everything's  in  your  hands,  and  I  trust  you !" 

The  giant  rose  from  his  chair.  His  face  was  white 
with  the  effect  of  the  whisky,  and  one  spot  of  color  burned 
in  each  cheek.  He  looked  gloweringly  upon  his  com- 
panions. 


290  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

"Andy,"  he  said,  "I " 

"Wait  a  minute,"  said  Scottie  swiftly,  seeing  that  the 
scales  were  balancing  toward  a  defeat. 

"Let  him  talk.  You  don't  have  to  tell  him  what  to 
say,"  said  Andrew. 

"I've  got  a  right  to  put  our  side  up  to  him — for  the 
sake  of  the  things  we've  been  through  together.  Jeff, 
have  I?" 

Jeff  Rankin  cleared  his  throat  importantly.  Scottie 
faced  him ;  the  others  kept  their  unchanging  eyes  rivetted 
upon  Andrew,  ready  for  the  gun  play  at  the  first  flicker 
of  an  eyelid.  The  first  sign  of  unwariness  would  begin 
and  end  the  battle. 

"Don't  forget  this,"  went  on  Scottie,  having  Jeff's 
attention.  "Andy  is  workin'  to  keep  Dozier  alive.  Why  ? 
Dozier's  the  law,  isn't  he?  Then  Andy  wants  to  make 
up  with  the  law.  He  wants  to  sneak  out.  He  wants  to 
turn  state's  evidence !" 

The  deadly  phrase  shocked  Jeff  Rankin  a  pace  back 
toward  soberness. 

"I  never  thought,"  he  began. 

"You're  too  straight  to  think  of  it.  Take  another 
look  at  Lanning.  Is  he  one  of  us?  Has  he  ever  been 
one  of  us  ?  No !  Look  again !  Dozier  has  hunted  Lan- 
ning all  over  the  mountain  desert.  Now  he  wants  to 
save  Dozier.  Wants  to  risk  his  life  for  him.  Wants 
to  buy  him  from  us!  Why?  Because  he's  turned 
crooked.  He's  turned  soft.  He  wants  to  get  under  the 
wing  of  the  law." 

But  Jeff  Rankin  swept  all  argument  away  with  a  move- 
ment of  his  big  paws. 

"Too  much  talk,"  he  said.     "I  want  to  think." 

His  stupid,  animal  eyes  went  laboriously  around  the 


AT  THE  POINT  OF  A  RIFLE  291 

room.     "I  wish  Allister  was  here/'  he  said.     "He  al- 
ways knew." 

"For  my  part,"  said  Scottie,  "I  can't  be  bought.  Not 
me!"  He  suddenly  leaned  to  the  big  man,  and,  before 
Andrew  could  speak,  he  had  said :  "Jeff,  you  know  why 
I  want  to  get  Dozier.  Because  he  ran  down  my  brother. 
Curse  him,  and  curse  him  again !  And  are  you  going  to 
let  him  go  clear,  Jeff?  Are  you  going  to  have  Allister 
haunt  you  ?" 

It  was  the  decisive  stroke.  The  big  head  of  Jeff 
twitched  back,  he  opened  his  lips  to  speak — and  in  that 
moment,  knowing  that  the  battle  was  over  and  lost  to 
him,  Andrew,  who  had  moved  back,  made  one  leap  and 
was  through  the  door  and  into  the  little  shed  again.  The 
gun  had  gleamed  in  the  hand  of  Larry  la  Roche  as  he 
sprang,  but  Andrew  had  been  too  quick  for  the  outlaw 
to  plant  his  shot. 

He  heard  Jeff  Rankin  still  speaking :  "I  dunno,  quite. 
But  I  see  you're  right,  Scottie.  They  ain't  any  reason 
for  Lanning  to  be  so  chummy  with  Dozier.  And  so 
they  must  be  somethin'  crooked  about  it.  Boys,  I'm. 
with  you  to  the  limit!  Go  as  far  as  you  like.  I'm  be- 
hind you !" 

No  room  for  argument  now ;  and  the  blind,  animal  hate 
which  Scottie  and  La  Roche  and  Clune  felt  for  Dozier 
was  sure  to  drive  them  to  extremities.  Andrew  sat  in 
the  dark,  hurriedly  going  over  his  rifle  and  his  revolver. 
Once  he  was  about  to  throw  open  the  door  and  try  the 
effect  of  a  surprise  attack.  He  might  plant  two  shots 
before  there  was  a  return ;  he  let  the  idea  slip  away  from 
him.  There  would  remain  two  more,  and  one  of  them 
was  certain  to  kill  him. 

Moving  across  the  room  he  heard  a  whisper  from  th« 


292  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

floor:  "I've  heard  them,  Lanning.  Don't  be  a  fool. 
Give  me  up  to  'em !" 

He  made  no  answer.  In  the  other  room  the  voices 
were  no  longer  restrained;  Jeff  Rankings  in  particular 
boomed  and  rang  and  filled  the  shed.  Once  bent  on  ac- 
tion he  was  all  for  the  attack;  whisky  had  removed  the 
last  human  scruple.  And  Andrew  heard  them  openly 
cast  their  ballots  for  a  new  leader;  heard  Scottie  ac- 
claimed; heard  the  Scotchman  say:  "Boys,  I'm  going 
to  show  you  a  way  to  clean  up  on  Dozier  and  Lanning, 
without  any  man  risking  a  single  shot  from  him  in  re- 
turn." 

They  clamored  for  the  suggestion,  but  he  told  them 
that  he  was  first  going  out  into  the  open  to  think  it  over. 
In  the  meantime  they  had  nothing  to  fear.  Sit  fast  and 
have  another  drink  around.  He  had  to  be  alone  to  figure 
it  out. 

It  was  very  plain.  The  wily  rascal  would  let  them  go 
one  step  farther  toward  an  insanity  of  drink,  and  then, 
his  own  brain  cold  and  collected,  he  would  come  back 
to  turn  the  shack  into  a  shambles.  He  had  said  he  could 
do  it  without  risk  to  them.  There  was  only  one  possible 
meaning;  he  intended  to  use  fire. 

Andrew  sat  with  the  butt  of  his  rifle  ground  into  his 
forehead.  It  was  still  easy  to  escape ;  the  insistent  whis- 
per from  the  floor  was  pointing  out  the  way:  "Beat  it 
out  that  back  window,  lad.  Slope,  Andy ;  they's  no  use. 
You  can't  help  me.  They  mean  fire ;  they'll  pot  you  like 
a  pig,  from  the  dark.  Give  me  up !" 

It  was  the  advice  to  use  the  window  that  decided  An- 
drew. It  was  a  wild  chance  indeed,  this  leaving  of 'Do- 
zier helpless  on  the  floor ;  but  he  risked  it.  He  whispered 
to  the  marshal  that  he  would  return,  and  slipped  through 
the  window.  He  was  not  halfway  around  the  house  be- 


AT  THE  POINT  OF  A  RIFLE  293 

fore  he  heard  a  voice  that  chilled  him  with  horror.  It 
was  the  marshal  calling  to  them  that  Andrew  was  gone 
and  inviting  them  in  to  finish  him.  But  they  suspected, 
naturally  enough,  that  the  invitation  was  a  trap,  and  they 
contented  themselves  with  abusing  him  for  thinking  them 
such  fools. 

Andrew  went  on;  fifty  feet  from  the  house  and  just 
aside  from  the  shaft  of  light  that  fell  from  the  open 
door,  stood  Scottie.  His  head  was  bare,  his  face  was 
turned  up  to  catch  the  wind,  and  no  doubt  he  was  dream- 
ing of  the  future  which  lay  before  him  as  the  new  cap- 
tain of  Allister's  band.  The  whisper  of  Andrew  behind 
him  cut  his  dream  short.  He  whirled  to  receive  the  muz- 
zle of  a  revolver  in  his  stomach.  His  hands  went  up, 
and  he  stood  gasping  faintly  in  the  moonlight. 

"I've  got  you,  Scottie/'  he  said,  "and  so  help  me 
Heaven,  you're  the  first  man  that  I've  wanted  to  kill." 

It  would  have  taken  a  man  of  supernerve  to  outface 
that  situation.  And  the  nerve  of  Scottie  cracked. 

He  began  to  whisper  with  a  horrible  break  and  sob 
in  his  breath:  "Andy — Andy,  gimme  a  chance.  I'm 
not  fit  to  go — this  way.  Andy,  remember " 

"I'm  going  to  give  you  a  chance.  You're  pretty  low, 
Scottie;  I  check  what  you've  done  to  the  way  you  hate 
Dozier,  and  I  won't  hold  a  grudge.  And  I'll  tell  you 
the  chance  you've  got.  You  see  these  rocks,  here?  I'm 
goin'  to  lie  down  behind  them.  I'm  going  to  keep  you 
covered  with  my  rifle.  Scottie,  did  you  ever  see  me 
shoot  with  a  rifle?" 

Scottie  shuddered — a  very  sufficient  reply. 

"I'm  going  to  keep  you  covered.  Then  you'll  turn 
around  and  walk  straight  back  to  the  shack.  You'll 
stand  there — always  in  clean  sight  of  the  doorway — and 
you'll  persuade  that  crowd  of  drunks  to  leave  the  house 


294  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

and  ride  away  with  you.  Understand,  when  you  get 
inside  the  house,  there'll  be  a  big  temptation  to  jump  to 
one  side  and  get  behind  the  wall — just  one  twitch  of  your 
muscles,  and  you'd  be  safe.  But,  fast  as  you  could  move, 
Scottie,  powder  drives  lead  a  lot  faster.  And  I'll  have 
you  centered  every  minute.  You'll  make  a  pretty  little 
target  against  the  light,  besides.  You  understand? 

"The  moment  you  even  start  to  move  fast,  I  pull  the 
trigger.  Remember  it,  Scottie.  For  as  sure  as  there's 
a  hell,  I'll  send  you  into  it  head  first,  if  you  don't." 

"So  help  me  Heaven,"  said  Scottie,  "I'll  do  what  I 
can.  I  think  I  can  talk  'em  into  it.  But  if  I  don't?" 

"If  you  don't,  you're  dead.  That's  short,  and  that's 
sweet.  Keep  it  in  your  head.  Go  back  and  tell  them 
it  would  take  too  great  a  risk  to  try  to  fix  me. 

"And  there's  another  thing  to  remember.  If  you 
should  be  able  to  get  behind  the  wall  without  being  shot, 
you're  not  safe.  Not  by  a  long  way,  Scottie.  I'd  still 
be  alive.  And,  though  you'd  have  Hal  Dozier  there  to 
cut  up  as  you  pleased,  I'd  be  here  outside  the  cabin  watch- 
ing it — with  my  rifle.  And  I'd  tag  some  of  you  when 
you  tried  to  get  out.  And  if  I  didn't  get  you  all  I'd 
start  on  your  trail.  Scottie,  you  fellows,  even  when  you 
had  Allister  to  lead  you,  couldn't  get  off  scot-free  from 
Dozier.  Scottie,  I  give  you  my  solemn  word  of  honor, 
you'll  find  me  a  harder  man  to  get  free  from  than  Hal 
Dozier. 

"Here's  the  last  thing:  If  you  do  what  I  tell  you — 
if  you  get  that  crowd  of  drunken  brutes  out  of  the  cabin 
and  away  without  harming  Dozier,  I'll  wipe  out  the  score 
between  us.  No  matter  what  you  told  the  rest  of  them, 
you  know  I've  never  broken  a  promise,  and  that  I  never 
shall." 

He  stopped   and,   stepping  back  to  the  rocks,   sank 


AT  THE  POINT  OF  A  RIFLE  295 

slowly  down  behind  them.  Only  the  muzzle  of  his  rifle 
showed,  no  more  than  the  glint  of  a  tiny  bit  of  quartz; 
his  left  hand  was  raised,  and,  at  its  gesture,  Scottie  turned 
and  walked  slowly  toward  the  cabin  doorway.  Once, 
stumbling  over  something,  he  reeled  almost  out  of  the 
shaft  of  light,  but  stopped  on  the  edge  of  safety  with  a 
terrible  trembling.  There  he  stood  for  a  moment,  and 
Andrew  knew  that  he  was  gathering  his  nerve.  He 
went  on ;  he  stood  in  the  doorway,  leaning  with  one  arm 
against  it. 

What  followed  Andrew  could  not  hear,  except  an  occa- 
sional roar  from  Rankin.  Once  Larry  la  Roche  came 
and  stood  before  the  new  leader,  gesturing  frantically, 
and  the  ring  of  his  voice  came  clearly  to  Andrew.  The 
Scotchman  negligently  stood  to  one  side ;  the  way  between 
Andrew  and  Larry  was  cleared,  and  Andrew  could  not 
help  smiling  at  the  fiendish  malevolence  of  Scottie.  But 
he  was  apparently  able  to  convince  even  Larry  la  Roche 
by  means  of  words.  At  length  there  was  a  bustling  in 
the  cabin,  a  loud  confusion,  and  finally  the  whole  troop 
went  out.  Somebody  brought  Scottie  his  saddle;  Jeff 
Rankin  came  out  reeling. 

But  Scottie  stirred  last  from  the  doorway;  there  he 
stood  in  the  shaft  of  light  until  some  one,  cursing,  brought 
him  his  horse.  He  mounted  it  in  full  view.  Then  the 
cavalcade  started  down  the  ravine. 

Certainly  it  was  not  an  auspicious  beginning  for  Scot- 
tie  Macdougal. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

BETWEEN   A    HORSE  AND   A   GIRL 

THE  first  ten  days  of  the  following  time  were  the  hard- 
est; it  was  during  that  period  that  Scottie  and  the 
rest  were  most  apt  to  return  and  make  a  backstroke  at 
Dozier  and  Andrew.  For  Andrew  knew  well  enough 
that  this  was  the  argument — the  promise  of  a  surprise 
attack — with  which  Scottie  had  lured  his  men  away  from 
the  shack. 

During  that  ten  days,  and  later,  he  adopted  a  syste- 
matic plan  of  work.  During  the  nights  he  paid  two  visits 
to  the  sick  man.  On  one  occasion  he  dressed  the  wound ; 
on  the  next  he  did  the  cooking  and  put  food  and  water 
beside  the  marshal,  to  last  him  through  the  day. 

After  that  he  went  out  and  took  up  his  post.  As  a 
rule  he  waited  on  the  top  of  the  hill  in  the  clump  of  pines. 
From  this  position  he  commanded  with  his  rifle  the  sweep 
of  hillside  all  around  the  cabin.  The  greatest  time  of 
danger  for  Dozier  was  when  Andrew  had  to  scout 
through  the  adjacent  hills  for  food — their  supply  of  meat 
ran  out  on  the  fourth  day. 

But  the  ten  days  passed;  and  after  that,  in  spite  of  the 
poor  care  he  had  received — or  perhaps  aided  by  the  abso- 
lute quiet — the  marshal's  iron  constitution  asserted  itself 
more  and  more  strongly.  He  began  to  mend  rapidly. 
Eventually  he  could  sit  up,  and,  when  that  time  came,  the 
great  period  of  anxiety  was  over.  For  Dozier  could  sit 
with  his  rifle  across  his  knees,  or,  leaning  against  the 


BETWEEN  A  HORSE  AND  A  GIRL         297 

chair  which  Andrew  had  improvised,  command  a  fairly 
good  outlook. 

Only  once — it  was  at  the  close  of  the  fourth  week — 
did  Andrew  find  suspicious  signs  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
cabin — the  telltale  trampling  on  a  place  where  four  horses 
had  milled  in  an  impatient  circle.  But  no  doubt  the  gang 
had  thought  caution  to  be  the  better  part  of  hate.  They 
remembered  the  rifle  of  Andrew  and  had  gone  on  with- 
out making  a  sign.  Afterward  Andrew  learned  why 
they  had  not  returned  sooner.  Three  hours  after  they 
left  the  shack  a  posse  had  picked  them  up  in  the  moon- 
light, and  there  had  followed  a  forty-mile  chase. 

But  all  through  the  time  until  the  marshal  could  actu- 
ally stand  and  walk,  and  finally  sit  his  saddle  with  little 
danger  of  injuring  the  wound,  Andrew,  knowing  noth- 
ing of  what  took  place  outside,  was  ceaselessly  on  the 
watch.  Literally,  during  all  that  period,  he  never  closed 
his  eyes  for  more  than  a  few  minutes  of  solid  sleep.  And, 
before  the  danger  line  had  been  crossed,  he  was  worn  to 
a  shadow.  When  he  turned  his  head  the  cords  leaped 
out  on  his  neck.  His  eyes  were  buried  in  his  head  by 
that  long  vigil,  and  his  mouth  had  that  look,  at  once  sav- 
age and  nervous,  which  goes  always  with  the  hunted  man. 

And  it  was  not  until  he  was  himself  convinced  that 
Dozier  could  take  care  of  himself  that  he  wrapped  him- 
self in  his  blankets  and  fell  into  a  twenty-four-hour  sleep. 
He  awoke  finally  with  a  start,  out  of  a  dream  in  which 
he  had  found  himself,  in  imagination,  wakened  by  Scot- 
tie  stooping  over  him.  He  had  reached  for  his  revolver 
at  his  side,  in  the  dream,  and  had  found  nothing.  Now, 
waking,  his  hand  was  working  nervously  across  the  floor 
of  the  shack.  That  part  of  the  dream  was  come  true, 
but,  instead  of  Scottie  leaning  over  him,  it  was  the  mar- 
shal, who  sat  in  his  chair  with  his  rifle  across  his  knees. 


298  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

Andrew  sat  up.  His  weapons  had  been  indeed  removed, 
and  the  marshal  was  looking  at  him  with  beady  eyes. 

"Have  you  seen  'em?"  asked  Andrew.  "Have  the 
boys  shown  themselves?" 

He  started  to  get  up,  but  the  marshal's  crisp  voice  cut 
in  on  him.  "Sit  down  there." 

There  had  been — was  it  possible  to  believe  it  ? — a  mo- 
tion of  the  gun  in  the  hands  of  the  marshal  to  point  this 
last  remark. 

"Partner,"  said  Andrew,  stunned,  "what  are  you 
drivin'  at?" 

"I've  been  thinking,"  said  Hal  Dozier.  "You  sit  tight 
till  I  tell  you  what  about." 

"It's  just  driftin'  into  my  head,  sort  of  misty,"  mur- 
mured Andrew,  "that  you've  been  thinkin'  about  double 
crossin'  me." 

"Suppose,"  said  the  marshal,  "I  was  to  ride  into  Mar- 
tindale  with  you  in  front  of  me.  That'd  make  a  pretty 
good  picture,  Andy.  Allister  dead,  and  you  taken  alive. 
Not  to  speak  of  ten  thousand  dollars  as  a  background. 
That  would  sort  of  round  off  my  work.  I  could  retire 
and  live  happy  ever  after,  eh?" 

Andrew  peered  into  the  grim  face  of  the  older  man; 
there  was  not  a  flicker  of  a  smile  in  it. 

"Go  on,"  he  said,  "but  think  twice,  Hal.  If  I  was  you, 
I'd  think  ten  times!" 

The  marshal  met  those  terrible,  blazing  eyes  without 
a  quiver  of  his  own. 

"I  began  with  thinking  about  that  picture,"  he  said. 
"Later  on  I  had  some  other  thoughts — about  you.  Andy, 
d'you  see  that  you  don't  fit  around  here?  You're  neither 
a  man-killer  nor  a  law-abidin'  citizen.  You  wouldn't  fit 
in  Martindale  any  more,  and  you  certainly  won't  fit  with 
any  gang  of  crooks  that  ever  wore  guns.  Look  at  the 


BETWEEN  A  HORSE  AND  A  GIRL         299 

way  you  split  with  Allister's  outfit!  Same  thing  would 
happen  again.  So,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  it  doesn't  make 
much  difference  whether  I  trot  you  into  town  and  collect 
the  ten  thousand,  or  whether  some  of  the  crooks  who  hate 
you  run  you  down — or  some  posse  corners  you  one  of 
these  days  and  does  its  job.  How  do  you  see  it?" 

Andrew  said  nothing,  but  his  face  spoke  for  him. 

"How  d'you  see  the  future  yourself?"  said  the  mar- 
shal. His  voice  changed  suddenly:  "Talk  to  me, 
Andy/' 

Andrew  looked  carefully  at  him ;  then  he  spoke. 

"I'll  tell  you  short  and  quick,  Hal.  I  want  action. 
That's  all.  I  want  something  to  keep  my  mind  and  my 
hands  busy.  Doing  nothing  is  the  thing  I'm  afraid  of." 

"I  gather  you're  not  very  happy,  Andy  ?" 

Lanning  smiled,  and  it  was  not  a  pleasant  smile  to  see. 

"I'm  empty,  Hal,"  he  answered.  "Does  that  answer 
you  ?  The  crooks  are  against  me,  the  law  is  against  me. 
Well,  they'll  work  together  to  keep  me  busy.  I  don't 
want  any  man's  help.  I'm  a  bad  man,  Hal.  I  know  it. 
I  don't  deny  it.  I  don't  ask  any  quarter." 

It  was  rather  a  desperate  speech — rather  a  boyish  one. 
At  any  rate  the  marshal  smiled,  and  a  curious  flush  came 
in  Andrew's  face. 

"Will  you  let  me  tell  you  a  story,  Andrew?  It's  a 
story  about  yourself." 

He  went  on:  "You  were  a  kid  in  Martindale. 
Husky,  good-natured,  a  little  sleepy,  with  touchy  nerves, 
not  very  confident  in  yourself.  I've  known  other  kids 
like  you,  but  none  just  the  same  type. 

"You  weren't  waked  up.  You  see?  The  pinch  was 
bound  to  come  in  a  town  where  every  man  wore  his  gun. 
You  were  bound  to  face  a  show-down.  There  were  equal 
chances.  Either  you'd  back  down  and  take  water  from 


300  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

somebody,  or  else  you'd  give  the  man  a  beating.  If  the 
first  thing  happened,  you'd  have  been  a  coward  the  rest 
of  your  life.  But  the  other  thing  was  what  happened, 
and  it  gave  you  a  touch  of  the  iron  that  a  man  needs  in 
his  blood.  Iron  dust,  Andy,  iron  dust ! 

"You  had  bad  luck,  you  think.  I  tell  you  that  you 
were  bound  to  fall  out  with  the  law,  because  you  were 
too  strong,  too  touchy — and  too  quick  with  a  gun.  You 
had  too  much  of  the  stuff  that  explodes.  Also,  you  had 
a  lot  of  imagination.  You  thought  you'd  killed  a  man; 
it  made  you  think  you  wrere  a  born  murderer.  You  be- 
gan to  look  back  to  the  old  stories  about  the  Lannings — 
a  wild  crew  of  men.  You  thought  that  blood  was  what 
was  a-showing  in  you. 

"Partly  you  were  right,  partly  you  were  wrong.  There 
was  a  new  strength  in  you.  You  thought  it  was  the 
strength  of  a  desperado.  Do  you  know  what  the  change 
was?  It  was  the  change  from  boyhood  to  manhood. 
That  was  all — a  sort  of  chemical  change,  Andy. 

"See  what  happened:  You  had  your  first  fight  and 
you  saw  your  first  girl,  all  about  the  same  time.  But 
here's  what  puzzles  me :  according  to'  the  way  I  figure 
it,  you  must  have  seen  the  girl  first.  But  it  seems  that 
you  didn't.  Will  you  tell  me?" 

"We  won't  talk  about  the  girl,"  said  Andrew  in  a  heavy 
voice. 

"Tut,  tut!  Won't  we?  Boy,  we're  going  to  do  more 
talking  about  her  than  about  anything  else.  Well,  any- 
way, you  saw  the  girl,  fell  in  love  with  her,  went  awray. 
Met  up  with  a  posse  which  my  brother  happened  to  lead. 
Killed  your  man.  Went  on.  Rode  like  the  wind.  Went 
through  about  a  hundred  adventures  in  as  many  days. 
And  little  by  little  you  were  fixing  in  your  ways.  You 
were  changing  from  boyhood  into  manhood,  and  you 


BETWEEN  A  HORSE  AND  A  GIRL         301 

were  changing  without  any  authority  over  you.  Most 
youngsters  have  their  fathers  over  them  when  that  change 
comes.  All  of  'em  have  the  law.  But  you  didn't  have 
either.  And  the  result  was  that  you  changed  from  a 
boy  into  a  man,  and  a  free  man.  You  hear  me?  You 
found  that  you  could  do  what  you  wanted  to  do;  noth- 
ing could  hold  you  back  except  one  thing — the  girl !" 

Andrew  caught  his  breath,  but  the  marshal  would  not 
let  him  speak. 

"I've  seen  other  free  men — most  people  called  them 
desperadoes.  What's  a  desperado  in  the  real  sense?  A 
man  who  won't  submit  to  the  law.  That's  all  he  is.  But, 
because  he  won't  submit,  he  usually  runs  foul  of  other 
men.  He  kills  one.  Then  he  kills  another.  Finally 
he  gets  the  blood  lust.  Well,  Andy,  that's  what  you 
never  got.  You  killed  one  man — he  brought  it  on  him- 
self. But  look  back  over  the  rest  of  your  career.  Most 
people  think  you've  killed  twenty.  That's  because  they've 
heard  a  pack  of  lies.  You're  a  desperado — a  free  man 
— but  you're  not  a  man-killer.  And  there's  the  whole 
point. 

"And  this  was  what  turned  you  loose  as  a  criminal — 
you  thought  the  girl  had  cut  loose  from  you.  Otherwise 
to  this  day  you'd  have  been  trying  to  get  away  across  the 
mountains  and  be  a  good,  quiet  member  of  society.  But 
you  thought  the  girl  had  cut  loose  from  you,  and  it  hurt 
you.  Man-killer?  Bah!  You're  simply  lovesick,  my 
boy!" 

'Talk  slow,"  whispered  Andrew.  "My — my  head's 
whirling." 

"It'll  whirl  more,  pretty  soon.  Andy,  do  you  know 
that  the  girl  never  married  Charles  Merchant?" 

There  was  a  wild  yell;  Andrew  was  stopped  in  mid- 
air by  a  rifle  thrust  into  his  stomach. 


302  FREE  RANGE  LANNING 

"She  broke  off  her  engagement.  She  came  to  me  be- 
cause she  knew  I  was  running  the  man  hunt.  She  begged 
me  to  let  you  have  a  chance.  She  tried  to  buy  me.  She 
told  me  everything  that  had  gone  between  you.  Andy, 
she  put  her  head  on  my  desk  and  cried  while  she  was 
begging  for  you !" 

"Stop!"  whispered  Andrew. 

"But  I  wouldn't  lay  off  your  trail,  Andy.  Why  ?  Be- 
cause I'm  as  proud  as  a  devil.  I'd  started  to  get  you  and 
I'd  lost  Gray  Peter  trying.  And  even  after  you  saved 
me  from  Allister's  men  I  was  still  figuring  how  I  could 
get  you.  And  then,  little  by  little,  I  saw  that  the  girl 
had  seen  the  truth.  You  weren't  really  a  crook.  You 
weren't  really  a  man-killer.  You  were  simply  a  kid  that 
turned  into  a  man  in  a  day — and  turned  into  a  free  man ! 
You  were  too  strong  for  the  law. 

"Now,  Andrew,  here's  my  point:  As  long  as  you 
stay  here  in  the  mountain  desert  you've  no  chance. 
You'll  be  among  men  who  know  you.  Even  if  the  gov- 
ernor pardons  you — as  he  might  do  if  a  certain  deputy 
marshal  were  to  start  pulling  strings — you'd  run  some 
day  into  a  man  who  had  an  old  grudge  against  you,  and 
there'd  be  another  explosion.  Because  there's  nitrogly- 
cerin  inside  you,  son ! 

"Well,  the  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to  get  where  men 
don't  wear  guns.  The  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to  find  a 
girl  you  love  a  lot  more  than  you  do  your  freedom,  even. 
If  that's  possible " 

"Where  is  she?"  broke  in  'Andy.  "Hal,  for  pity's 
sake,  tell  me  where  she  is !" 

"I've  got  her  address  all  written  out.  She  forgot 
nothing.  She  left  it  with  me,  she  said,  so  she  could 
keep  in  touch  with  me." 

"It's  no  good,"  said  Andy  suddenly.     "I  could  never 


BETWEEN  A  HORSE  AND  A  GIRL         303 

get  through  the  mountains.  People  know  me  too  well. 
They  know  Sally  too  well." 

''Of  course  they  do.  So  you're  not  going  to  go  with 
Sally.  You're  not  going  to  ride  a  horse.  You're  going 
in  another  way.  Everybody's  seen  your  picture.  But 
who'd  recognize  the  dashing  young  man-killer,  the  origi- 
nal wild  Andrew  Lanning,  in  the  shape  of  a  greasy,  dirty 
tramp,  with  a  ten-days-old  beard  on  his  face,  with  a 
dirty  felt  hat  pulled  over  one  eye,  and  riding  the  brake 
beams  on  the  way  East?  And  before  you  got  off  the 
beams,  Andrew,  the  governor  of  this  State  will  have 
signed  a  pardon  for  you.  Well,  lad,  what  do  you  say  ?" 

But  Andrew,  walking  like  one  dazed,  had  crossed  the 
room  slowly.  The  marshal  saw  him  go  across  to  the 
place  where  Sally  stood;  she  met  him  halfway,  and,  in 
her  impudent  way,  tipped  his  hat  half  off  his  head  with 
a  toss  of  her  nose.  He  put  his  arm  around  her  neck 
and  they  walked  slowly  off  together. 

"Well,"  said  Hal  Dozier  faintly,  "what  can  you  do 
with  a  man  who  don't  know  how  to  choose  between  a 
horse  and  a  girl?" 

THE  END 


A87  F? 


